Brother Mine
by Raelynn Daria Mayne
Summary: Herald Ansen's difficult assignment just got a lot tougher. Fortunately, help is always available when a Herald needs it. The Valdemar Universe is the sole property of Mercedes Lackey. My thanks for the visitation rights. This will hopefully be an interesting short to get to know Ansen better. (But then, I said the same thing about Kyminn.) COMPLETE
1. Chapter 1

The Herald and Companion slowly paced the immaculately raked grounds of the refurbished Waystation. The unconscious unison of their steps bespoke the length and depth of their bond.

 _::It looks better than I expected.::_ There was deep approval in the Companion's mind voice.

"The Guard did an excellent job," Herald Ansen Danner didn't stint on the acknowledgement. "All this in just over a month."

 _::Selenay told you to request whatever you felt was necessary. I don't think you over did it.::_

Set deep into the craggy mountains of The Comb, the Waystation had formerly been the standard, one-room design – a sturdy, weathertight cottage with adjoining storage shed and stabling for pack animals.

Ansen's design had expanded the single building into two rooms. The builders had salvaged the stone from the outbuildings to create the additional room and added two sturdy wooden sheds to provide temporary storage for the displaced goods. All the mortar had been re-pointed and the entire structure gleamed with whitewash. Although the outbuildings were clearly new, the entire area had been cleaned of construction detritus and tidied to provide the best possible impression.

Ansen pushed gently on the door, new made and freshly sealed in dark stain. It obligingly swung silently open on well-oiled hinges. Kandrel followed the Herald inside to inspect the remade space.

Like all Waystations, the interior was spartan and practical. Where normally the walls would have been rough stone, these were paneled halfway up with sanded pine boards. The remaining stonework had been sealed with smooth plaster and painted with the ubiquitous whitewash. Dark trim around the doors and window broke up the expanse of white.

 _::I have a feeling they put the paneling up because if they whitewashed the whole thing and put a Herald and Companion in here, a person, would go snow blind.::_

"I have a feeling you're right." Ansen turned in place slowly. He nodded to himself in approval of what he saw. Although bare, the space was immaculate, every surface gleaming and every article in meticulous order. A standing screen separated the main room from the sleeping area and he poked his head around the edge. He nodded again in satisfaction. His nose told him that the grasses in the mattress were fresh and whoever had done the job hadn't stinted on thickness. A wardrobe – out of place in a Waystation – already held all his gear.

"The trunks are all here, thank heavens." Ansen quickly checked each to make sure the contents had arrived intact.

 _::Good. Myste said she was sending some additional material that you might need. There should be a list somewhere.::_

Ansen fished out the pages. "Here they are…" his voice trailed off as he read.

 _:You found something.::_ It wasn't a question. After so many years together, each knew the other's moods without asking.

"I think so. Maybe. Remind me please to read up on water rights, will you?"

 _::Water rights? Hmm. Interesting, considering this dispute is about lands, gold and a proposed alliance-marriage.::_

"Isn't it just? Let's see how the meeting room turned out."

The new room could be accessed by a stout door from the Herald's quarters, but Ansen was determined to avoid using it if possible. The Herald lifted the lever through a quarter turn, noting how the simple system of gears let the four heavy bolts pivot smoothly from where they had been driven deep into the stone. Ansen gave an experimental tug, eyebrows climbing in surprise at how easily the heavy door moved on its hinges.

 _::Oak panels over an iron core, just as you requested.::_ Kandrel's mindvoice was dubious. _::Are you sure you didn't overdo it on this part? I checked the window – it's built to the same specification.::_

Ansen grimaced. "You may be right. In fact, I _hope_ you're right. But this feud has been settled for less than a generation and now, with this proposed marriage, has flared up again. There's already been substantial property damage and people have been hurt. If tempers get out of hand, I want to know there is someplace secure where no-one is going to chop their way through the door in a hurry.

"Besides, this Bell's Valley. The mines seem to attract everyone who thinks that stealing gold is less work than digging it out of the ground. I'm sure the circuit Herald will sleep better with the extra security."

 _::I can see your point. Securing the mines is the reason the local landowners have permission from the crown to keep additional armed retainers. Unfortunately, it also means additional armed retainers when disputes get out of hand.::_

"Exactly. And unlike many retainers, whose work consists mostly of practicing, enforcing the peace and handling the occasional landless vagabond, _these_ retainers get plenty of combat experience fending off bandits who want to get their hands on a gold shipment. And all those bandits seem to put 'Get rid of the Herald' at the top of their master plan."

Kandrel nudged the door open and stepped into the newly built room. Finished in plaster and pine like the Herald's side, this room was equally simple. An iron stove, encased in stone to maintain and radiate heat in even the coldest weather, took up one corner. To Ansen's right, the end wall contained an exterior door, the only other opening in the room. A keen eye would have noticed that the opening was somewhat wider than usual. This door too sported the same heavy construction and locking mechanism.

The main area was taken up by a table and seven chairs. An eighth chair was set along the back wall, along with a writing desk. Three lamps hung above the large table and a fourth over the writing desk.

 _::Are you going to tell them that this space will be converted to stabling when we're finished with it?::_

"I think that we have enough problems on our hands without telling the disputants _that_ little bit of information, don't you?"

Kandrel's snort was definitely a snicker.

Inspection complete, the pair exited to resume their inspection of the grounds. Ansen walked the perimeters of the three (!) separate fenced paddocks, ensuring the arrangements of all three were equal and identical. Kandrel was affording the three (well separated) wooden platforms the same scrutiny.

 _::I'm still not sure about tents instead of something a bit sturdier.::_

"I know, and I'm not sure I disagree with you. The Guard wasn't sure they could come up with enough timber for three buildings. And it had to be…"

 _::Three or none::_ Kandrel finished for him.

"Exactly. I also think that the tents will be warmer. It's a cold and blustery spring and I expect a lot of rain. The lined tents will do a better job of keeping out the wind than a bare wood wall will. Besides," the Herald's tone grew pensive, "a tent brings with it expectations of rustic and primitive conditions. Any building we could provide would create an underlying sense of inadequacy and dissatisfaction. They might not be aware of it, but that subconscious discontent would affect the negotiations."

 _::Fair point.::_ Kandrel acknowledged.

Ansen's 'feelings' on certain things had caused much head-scratching during his days as a Trainee. When a group was arguing, Ansen 'knew', in a manner he couldn't explain, which words or issues were significant and which ideas would actually influence the outcome. It didn't tell him what words to use, but he could always tease out what it was that someone actually wanted - or at least would accept. Whether it was instinct or Gift had never been determined although Elcarth had tentatively put it in the 'Gift' column as being an aspect of either Mindspeech or a distant cousin of Empathy or the Bardic Gift. The talent could be blocked – to an extent – but that simply meant that Ansen's accuracy dipped somewhat. Elcarth had decided that blocking removed the Gift aspect of the skill but left the natural instinct intact. Regardless, it had meant that Herald Ansen was one of the Queen's most able diplomats and negotiators.

 _::The Guard arrives tomorrow. Are you ready? I can't think of anything else for them, can you?::_

"No, I think we're ready. The three families are being permitted three retainers only. A manservant, a lady's maid and a groom. All other functions will be handled by the Guard. Meals will be prepared by the Guard and served from common dishes. Security will be provided by the Guard – including sentries on each paddock and all the feed and water. I still haven' decided whether or not to search the wagons and gear. I'll wait and decide if that seems necessary. I'd prefer not to – if one party perceives it as due diligence for security and another feels it's overly intrusive…it will be hard to manage that without starting off on the wrong foot."

Kandrel left off his inspection of the tent sites and wandered back to his Herald. _::Have you decided who gets put in which location?::_

"What, and be accused of bias? Good heavens no. I'm leaving it entirely up to the gods." Ansen pulled a small pouch from one pocket, tipping out three painted stones.

The Companion eyed the stones dubiously. _::Orange, purple and grey? You couldn't find any better colours?::_

A sigh. "None that weren't already being used in the coat of arms of one of the disputants. The only colour left was yellow – which could stand for cowardice – and wouldn't they just love to insinuate _that_ to one another, or gold – which is the whole reason we're here in the first place. I'm going to toss these in the air and whichever lands closest to them, that's the tent and paddock they get."

 _::Let's hope the gods are listening and everyone accepts it as a reasonable solution.::_ Kandrel's snort indicated what he thought about the likelihood of common sense suddenly breaking out.

Ansen glanced around the clearing once more, mentally ticking things off. Eventually, he sighed. "You're right. It's as ready as it will ever be. It would be easier to do this somewhere else, but a Waystation is crown land. This is the only neutral location in the region – for all its situated firmly within the demesne of Lord and Lady Lisle. It really was the only option." He looked over at his friend. "There's still plenty of daylight left. If you let me grab a blanket, I'll follow you to the meadow down the shore a bit. I can read up on water rights while you eat your dinner."

 _::Only if you bring some grain with you::_ Kandrel was firm on that point.

Ansen chuckled. "Brother, I'll even untack you and after you've had a good after-dinner roll, I'll make sure brush every wisp of grass from your hide."

Kandrel affectionately lipped Ansen's hair. _:I think I can accept those terms::_


	2. Chapter 2

Ansen left nothing to chance. The three disputants had been politely and very firmly delayed by their Guard escorts in order that they might arrive at the Waystation at the same time. He was taking no chances on one party getting him alone to plead their case. It would have been comical, had the stakes not been so high, to see the coaches jockeying for space on the road. Fortunately for the horses' sake, the track verge was too rough to allow the coaches to pass or travel abreast.

Both Lord and Lady Polleck and Lord and Lady Lisle had opted to travel the short but harsh mine track along the north side of the valley. Lord and Lady Vernenen, on the other hand, had flatly refused to set foot on Lisle land, instead taking nearly a fortnight to take the main road via Covey to Bakerston before cutting across a minor track and picking up the crown road near Chapel Hill. Apparently, it was as much compromise as Wulfric Vernenen was willing to grant.

"My Lords and Ladies," the Herald afforded them a measured nod from his position atop Kandrel. His decision to greet them from the saddle was deliberate – for all his lack of title, _he_ was the Queen's voice in this matter and this was blunt reminder of that fact.

Point made, the Herald dismounted, Kandrel at his back. "Your quarters have been prepared and braziers lit. A light repast has been prepared so that you can recover from your travels. As there is still considerable daylight remaining and the matter is pressing, we will convene in a candlemark to begin the proceedings."

Ross Polleck opened his mouth to respond, but Whillard Lisle, Lord Chapel Hall, cut him off. "We'll take that tent." He jerked his chin. "I'd prefer to remain upwind of anything Vernenen." His wife cast a sly glance at Delia Vernenen and murmured – a trifle too loudly – to her husband, "I do believe I can smell wet dog from here. Or perhaps it's a Wulf."

Vernenen hissed and a hand dropped to his dagger.

"My lords and ladies," Ansen's voice was hard. "Enough." His eyes raked them over until they looked away. Ross Polleck looked rebellious, but finally he too yielded.

"The matter is not yours to decide. It is mine. And I will not be accused of playing favourites. We will let chance decide." He hefted the bag of stones. "The colour which lands closest to you is yours. This, my Lords, is _not_ negotiable."

Feet shifted, but no one argued. Ansen shook the stones in his closed fists and lobbed them upwards. Eight pairs of eyes watched them drop.

 _::Polleck orange, Vernenen grey and Lisle purple.::_ Kandrel declared to his Herald. The Companion stamped a foot and glared at the three couples. Although to him, he was simply a rarified horse, when several hundredweight of muscle and bone glares at you, it has an impact.

With stiff nods, the parties acknowledged their grudging acceptance of the assignment. Their Guard escorts closed around them, deferentially assisting with the unloading and settling in.

 _::Are you going to search them?::_

"Not at the moment. Wulfric Vernenen is spoiling for a fight and I'm not ready to give him an excuse. I _am_ surprised at Ross Polleck. Of all those here, he is most likely to be neutral. His wife was a Lisle and they want their daughter to marry Wulfric's heir. Yet he's pushing back a bit. I wonder why?"

 _::Trying to make a point that he's his own man perhaps? If this goes ahead, he'll have blood ties to all three mines. Maybe his ambitions are a bit larger than we thought.::_

"It's possible. It wouldn't be smart, but it's possible. He relies on being on good terms with both the others to access either of the main trade routes. He can't do much if they work together to cut him _off_. He has to get the gold _out_ to spend it."

 _::That's assuming Vernenen and Lisle would cooperate long enough to manage that. From what I'm seeing, it's more likely that I'll wake up tomorrow as a pinto.::_

"I have to say I agree. We knew this was going to be complicated. I just hope we're prepared."

# # #

This wasn't diplomacy. Ansen knew diplomacy – he'd been part of the group sent to Menmellith during the war with Ancar.

In diplomacy, you sat in quiet, well appointed rooms and restated your point – with no variation – and listened to the other side repeat theirs. After several candlemarks of this, someone would point out that there had been no progress and suggest a break.

During the break, various aides would 'just happen' to strike up conversations with their counterparts. While everyone held a glass of wine (that no one drank), pearls of wisdom would be dispensed.

"I think, given the right conditions, we might be able to find some room on the corn tariffs."

"Interesting. I can talk to my ambassador and see if there's any option on the threshold figure on raw copper before the penalty kicks in. I can't see him giving ground on worked goods though."

"I think he's empowered to go up to 3% leeway on corn."

"I'll see if we can stretch 75 tons on copper."

When things resumed, one side would offer 3% on corn and ask for 100 tons on copper. The other side would counter with 7% and 60 tons. Eventually, everyone would settle on 5% on corn and 80 tons on copper, with up to 5% of that being worked goods.

This discussion…wasn't even close. It wasn't even a negotiation – which implied compromise. It was rapidly shaping up to be an imposed arbitration cleverly disguised as a verbal brawl. A verbal brawl on the verge of turning into a physical one.

"I'LL BE DAMNED IF I SEE MY BLOOD MIXED WITH THAT UNWASHED HILL SPAWN'S GET!" Whillard Lisle's bellow echoed in the chamber.

"YOU'RE A FINE ONE TO TALK! YOUR FATHER WAS A CHISELING BACKSTABBING SON OF A BITCH AND YOU'RE NO BETTER!" Wulfric was on his feet, veins popping in rage as he screamed across the table at his enemy.

"ENOUGH!" Ansen rapped sharply on the table with the pommel of his dagger. "If you will not be seated, you _will_ be seated. I can – and will – tie you down if need be."

"You wouldn't dare!" Aztenzia Lisle's knuckles were white on the arms of her chair.

"My lady, not only _can_ I, I will. The Queen charged me with ensuring this matter was dealt with and peace restored to your houses. If it means tying someone down to prevent knives being drawn, I will do so in a heartbeat. I am the Queen's voice in this matter. You know this."

"The Queen would not countenance this!" Lady Lisle locked eyes with the Herald.

"My Lady," Ansen was polite – and implacable – "the Queen wants peace between your houses. To that end, she is willing to let you come to your own terms. In fact, she would prefer it. However, what she will _not_ countenance, is continued conflict. If you cannot come to terms, she will impose them. My Lady – my Lords and Ladies – if you cannot contain yourselves, that is exactly what will occur. The choice is yours."

Wulfric had regained his seat and his face had lost some of its choler. "I will not tolerate the insults to my house."

"This marriage _is_ an insult to my house!" Lisle's snarl was emphatic, but he remained seated, his hands carefully in view on the table.

" _And_ here we go again. Better, my lords, but still far too provocative." Ansen paused until set jaws unclenched a trifle. "Let us review and then we will discuss – calmly and singly – your concerns."

The Herald unrolled a map of the Valley and carefully placed weights to hold it down.

"Teach us to suck eggs why don't you?" Ross Polleck gestured at the map. "This is _our_ lands. Don't you think we know it by now?"

The Herald simply stared, silent until Polleck looked away with a dismissive wave and snort.

Ansen let the silence hang. Finally, "We will address your concerns one at a time and ensure that all necessary information is entered into the record." He nodded at the Guardsman scribe seated at the writing desk. "Corporal Dren is very thorough and I would not have it said later that we failed to fully explore something which might give rise to an appeal at a later date."

He paused to let the various implications sink in before proceeding smoothly. "Bell's Valley runs east west through the Comb in the southwest of Valdemar." A finger traced the watercourse. "Bell's River flows through the valley from west to east. At about the two-thirds point, the river widens and shallows considerably, making it ideal for barge traffic.

"The Yellow River tributary enters the Bell's from the north. This river forms the boundary between Vernenen and Lisle lands. The main river forms the second boundary, with Polleck lands to the south. The villages of Covey and Bakerston fall within the charge of Lord and Lady Vernenen while the town of Bell's Valley itself is governed by the Pollecks. The easternmost villages – Lisle and Chapel Hill – are seen by the Lisles."

"Presumably there is a point to this recitation of facts any child in the region can spout?" Whillard Lisle's mutter was sour. From the corner of his eye, Ansen saw equally sour looks on the other's faces. At least it was something they could agree on.

"Anterioth, Whilliver and Skalien mines. Shafts which have produced for each family for generations."

"Baron Valdemar's own coronet was formed from Anterioth gold." Delia Vernenen's tone rang with pride.

"You trot that old chestnut out every time someone mentions Anterioth," Aztenzia Lisle snorted. "Everyone knows Anterioth wasn't sunk until generations _after_ Valdemar's founding, whereas _I_ can say with certainty that King Sendar's grandfather's coronation crown was made of Whilliver gold." It was haughty.

Whillard Lisle's answer was saccharine, "And we should all be happy that he had the poor taste to insist on inferior metal?"

"Why you…!" "How dare!" Once again, the meeting erupted into bedlam.

 _CRACK!_ The rap of the pommel cut through the chaos. Something in Ansen tugged and he turned his words inwards. _::Interesting. That's the second time that he's mentioned impurity or bloodlines. There's definitely something there.::_

 _::Is there any question as to the daughter's parentage? Or perhaps Wulfric's own heir? Maybe there's something he doesn't want exposed.::_ Kandrel's mindvoice was speculative.

 _::Possible. Myste sent a_ very _comprehensive genealogy. Hopefully the answer is in there instead of me having to pry into those kinds of family secrets.::_

"My Lords and Ladies. Now that you're finished, let's continue." Ansen didn't raise his voice. "Eighteen years ago, Lady Vissa Lisle wed Ross Polleck. This union ended nearly forty years of conflict between the two families; conflict which ended in bloodshed with the murder of Anders Polleck and the hanging of Lord Lisle's brother, Poll Lisle."

Lady Vernenen seemed about to make a comment on that event but held her tongue beneath the Herald's stare. "Since that time, the crown has taken careful note of your union lest past angers become manifest within the marriage. We are aware, my Lords and Ladies, that persons of your station and state may, of necessity, enter into matrimony as a contract rather than a bond of affection. However, a lack of affection does not mean that cruelty or other depraved behaviours are acceptable in their stead. Fortunately for the region, the result has been a resumption of peace and County Ross has been ably managed.

"Which brings us to the present. Lord and Lady Polleck are desirous of having their daughter Navina wed Ivor Vernenen, heir to Bellhold. Lord and Lady Lisle object to the union."

"Of course I object!" Lord Lisle snarled. "It would give Vernenen two-thirds control over the new gold field – fields which he can't access without _me_ giving him permission. It'll be a hot day in hell before I let the Wolf onto my lands!"

# # #

Over the next days, the issues began to emerge.

A small tributary of the Yellow River had, until a year ago, emerged from a crevice underground. A fracture had split the granite outcropping, creating an opening into a narrow cleft valley. This, in turn, afforded access to more of the unnamed creek and visible signs of gold in the creek bed. The fracture opening to the creek was on Lisle land. The gold bed was on Vernenen land. Neither was particularly interested in seeing the other get the bounty. Trouble, in the form of stampeded horses, slashed lines and similar had been brewing since the discovery.

As for the proposed marriage, it seemed that Whillard Lisle had been reasonably willing to surrender his daughter Vissa to an alliance marriage with Ross Polleck since it would mean Whillard's grandson would hold Polleck lands someday. However, Whillard Lisle was equally _unwilling_ to see his granddaughter in an alliance marriage with Ivor Vernenen. In an interesting feat of mental gymnastics, Lisle had been willing to gain blood-right by marriage through his daughter but sure that he would lose it through his granddaughter doing the exact same thing. Ansen set that problem aside for now.

Another point of contention was travel through the valley. For reasons still unclear, Wulfric Vernenen and his forebears had avoided travelling down the river through Lisle land, eschewing the faster barges in favour of the slower land route through Bakerston. Whillard Lisle seemed to bear an unreasonably deep resentment over this fact – more than could be accounted for by the simple loss of transit revenue. This, more than anything, seemed to fuel the feud between the two.

The Pollecks, on the other hand, had apparently been playing one against the other for generations now and had been quite willing to conduct various forms of sabotage and blame someone else. It was only in the last hundred years that they had given up charging (Whillard Lisle's word was 'extorting') a river tax to move goods on the Bell's River. _That_ behaviour had only ended when the King of the day had declared the river itself as a border and therefore belonging to neither side. The Pollecks had responded by creating barriers of sunken timbers to hole boats and force them to ground on Polleck lands where they could be 'charged landing fees' but decisive action by a Herald which involved a massive fine and all able-bodied Polleck males being required to dredge the river of _all_ obstacles had put an end to that nonsense. Hints dropped by both Lisle and Vernenen suggested that neither had forgotten – or completely forgiven – the Polleck clan for their past sins.

This was going to be a long project.


	3. Chapter 3

_::It would be nice if they could work out at least_ some _of this on their own.::_ Ansen huffed out a un-Heraldic sigh of frustration.

 _::If they could do that, they wouldn't need you.::_ Kandrel pointed out.

 _::Us.::_ Ansen commented automatically. _::Without you, I'm sure I'd have imposed a settlement long before now.::_

 _::Unlikely.::_ There was no mistaking the warmth in Kandrel's mindvoice. _::And you_ have _made progress. Whillard Lisle now admits that he has no standing to oppose the match. He also knows the consequences if he encourages his people to protest.::_

"Yes,", Ansen spoke aloud in the privacy of their Waystation. He'd had the Guard bring in a pile of horse blankets for Kandrel to rest on. Normally, Kandrel would have been next door in the adjoining stable with a thick bed of straw, but as that was currently configured as a meeting room… It made the Waystation smell like horse, but Ansen had long since stopped noticing.

"It took six days for us to get that far. And that doesn't include the I don't know how many candlemarks of my sitting him down and walking him through things."

 _::True. But progress is still progress. I agree with your decision to do everything you can to have them come to a settlement. There are literally generations of tit-for-tat conflict here and imposing terms will just cover all that up.::_

"Exactly." Ansen reflected for a moment. "I'm reasonably sure that Lord Lisle will 'agree' to the match if he gets concessions from the other two. I'm not sure Vernenen knows all the details on Lisle's agreement with the Pollecks that waived some of Vissa's claims. So long as Vernenen _thinks_ that Lisle is giving _something_ up, we can work with that. He'll realize eventually that Lisle _had_ to yield, but by then we'll have the deal inked and sworn."

Kandrel sighed. _::Hopefully. And all things being equal, I don't think this weather is helping any. I was listening to the Guard. While this area gets a lot of rain this time of year – you can see the high water marks along the river – this is on the heavy side. It's been even worse to the west. I think six days of downpour has put everyone in a funk.::_

"I know. I'm honestly surprised that there hasn't been more complaining. There's something to be said for the hardiness of the residents here. We're not dealing with the usual run of court nobles – these folks wrestle rock out of the ground and are used to things not coming easy."

 _::Have you decided which approach you're going to take next?::_ Kandrel bent his head towards where his Herald sat amidst neat stacks of papers.

"I have, actually. I think I might have found some of the roots of the conflict. It also explains Lord Wulfric's uneasiness about bloodlines _and_ Lord Lisle's concerns about inheritance rights."

An equine face wasn't designed for a raised eyebrow look of intrigue, but Kandrel somehow managed it. _::Really?::_

"Really. And I think all three are going to be somewhat surprised."

# # #

"...which opens the way for the marriage, provided certain agreements and protections can be put in place." Ansen injected a hearty tone of accomplishment into his statement.

Whillard Vernenen managed to look both self satisfied and unhappy at the same time. "I'll agree – so long as Lisle agrees to sever all rights through Vissa Lisle."

"Vissa _Polleck!"_ Ross Polleck's Lady was indignant. The women had been largely silent throughout the negotiations, confining themselves to public statements of support for their spouses and launching catty barbs at one another. While Valdemaran law had no barriers to a woman owning land or holding a seat in her own right, tradition was slow to acknowledge the fact. In many areas – generally the farther one got from the capital – a woman expecting to stand on her own in business or governance faced an uphill battle. The presence of the Ladies at this meeting had been Ansen's decision, not the Lords'. He'd used Vissa Polleck's relationship to two of the three parties as a reason to include her and 'in the interest of fairness' included the other two Ladies as well. Any excuse to drag entrenched ideas into the modern world would do.

It had quickly become clear that although there was no deep love between Ross Polleck and his wife, they had developed an effective partnership and she was clearly an intelligent woman. Aztenzia Lisle, Ansen readily admitted, would have been a terror at Court. Vindictive and sly, she had more than once nudged her husband away from an agreement. How she had managed to raise a reasonable daughter like Vissa was a mystery. Delia Vernenen, while nice, was not the sharpest sword in the armoury and relied on Wulfric to explain things to her.

 _::She's actually much smarter than she lets on.::_ Kandrel was outside in his covered shelter. He preferred to eat out there so as to not bring chaff and grain into the Waystation. _::It prevents Lady Lisle from getting any traction::_

 _::You noticed that too? I sometimes wonder if we're talking to the wrong people.::_

"Lady Polleck, Lord Vernenen, ease yourselves please. My Lord, let us address your concerns. You are responding, I presume, to local lore which suggests – and I ask your pardon in advance, Lord and Lady Lisle – that some families in this area acquired their lands and mines under less than usual means?"

"If by that you mean the fact that the Lisle's drove the rightful miners off their claims and set themselves up as lords, then yes. Everyone knows they're no more than jumped up brigands and more than happy to return to their thieving ways!" A fist thumped the table for emphasis and Wulfric sneered at his counterparts.

"You're a fine one to talk, you bald-faced horse thief and liar!" Whillard screeched in response but remained seated. On the third day of meetings, Ansen had dumped a pile of leather strapping from horse tack on the table and declared he would use it on the next person to leave his or her seat. No one had dared test him on it.

"My Lord Lisle, I thank you for raising that very relevant point." Ansen was so calm that all six of them gawped. Vernenen was still sputtering.

"In point of fact, you are both quite correct. Lord Lisle's house did, in fact derive from a rather irregular land acquisition and House Vernenen _does_ have a history of horse thievery."

"I knew it!" Ross Polleck crowed. The young Lord made no attempt to contain his glee. "Put that in your glass and choke on it! You two and your high and mighty airs!"

Ansen cocked his head. "Are you forgetting, Lord Polleck, your own family's unfortunate habit of river piracy, brigandage and the fact that you yourself are descended from _both_ of these other two houses?"

Having lobbed a wildcat into a rat's nest, Ansen sat back to observe the bedlam. This was most certainly _not_ conventional diplomacy.

It took quite a while for the noise to die down, trailing gradually away as they realized the Herald wasn't going to intervene this time.

"How dare you..." The glint in Aztenzia Lisle's eyes was ugly and Ansen realized she'd been quite aware of her House's history.

"Dare what, my Lady? Tell the truth?" Ansen didn't shift or look away. "We are here to find peace, My lady, and peace does not grow from lies." He looked around at all of them.

"Each of your Houses grew from common beginnings. Some of these are things we might consider less than honorable today. In this you are no different from many other Houses. Did you forget that our very nation is founded on an act of defiance? I would wager that seen through his King's eyes, Baron Valdemar's actions were treasonous. We did not emerge as a nation full-made, Lords and Ladies. We grew and brought others into our borders. We expanded into wilderness – eking out lives for our people in harsh places. It has involved struggle and, yes, strife. Who did what to whom and when – some of those details are lost and will remain so. But none of you is greater than the other. Your honor is equally stained my Lords and you will not be allowed to mark it further."

"We never…" Lord Polleck blustered a denial.

Ansen leafed through his documents and extracted one. "This is a copy from the Guard archives from 1263. It records two incursions by the Pollecks against the Lisles as well as the burning of timbers prepared as supports for House Vernenen's Number 11 shaft. I have numerous other documents Lord Polleck. Do you wish me to read them?"

Polleck shook his head, his jaw tight.

"You say House Polleck is from our line." Wulfric looked at his wife, then back at Ansen. "What is the degree of relation? Will it affect the marriage?"

A small smile. "Rest assured my Lord, it will not. In past days I have done much reading to past events in your Houses. It should not surprise you that the Queen's archives contain records long since lost in your own libraries. You, after all, were busy keeping those who looked to you hale and healthy rather than preserving moldering old scrolls."

Ansen laid out a series of pages, a timeline of the past five hundred or so years. He then proceeded to outline a convoluted tale involving allied mountain clans, roving brigands, alliances, raids, forced marriages, kidnappings and the like. Ross Polleck, it turned out, was descended from a Lisle daughter, taken in a raid and married to a bandit chieftain. Her twin sons, acting in concert, conquered and consolidated the households which would become House Vernenen. _Their_ sons, in turn, fell out and Polleck Varner took the southern lands by force. Fifty years later, the region became part of Valdemar and a roving Bard had recorded as much oral history of the area as she could.

"So you see," Ansen took a gulp of tea to wet his throat after so much talking. "Each of you has multiple claims to the other's land. And is, in turn, subject to claims. Would you like me to enforce the treaty signed by Chal Lisle with Virik Polleck which gives those two houses total control over the river and bars House Vernenen from accessing it – or the agreement between House Polleck and House Vernenen which controls the price of grain and corn in the area? That one charges House Lisle triple in retaliation for exorbitant barging fees."

"These aren't all still in effect, are they?" Lord Wulfric was pale.

"Technically, yes. None of these were rescinded nor is there any record of either party declaring them abrogated. Most of them don't actually overlap, aside from the mutual defense clauses. So yes, they are very much on the books."

"I don't think any of us actually want you to do that, Herald Ansen." Ross Polleck sounded as though it hurt him to say the words. "Is there some way to…make those go away?"

"I think we can arrange that. In exchange for a _new_ agreement."

It was a mark of a good negotiation that all parties were equally unhappy with the outcome. By that measure, this one was a resounding success.


	4. Chapter 4

Although unearthing the region's dubious history had exposed everyone equally, it did not erase generations of conflict. Ansen was pleased enough that their mutual tarnish left them little ammunition to cast at each other.

As Kandrel had drily pointed out, _::Hard to fire a bow when the arrow is likely to fly back and strike you in your own hind end.::_

Fortunately for both of them, Ansen had nearly two decades of practice at this point in not letting his reactions to Kandrel's observations show on his face. Instead, he simply nodded at Lord Wulfric. "An astute observation to be sure, my Lord. I wonder though, if we were to reframe Lord Lisle's initial suggestion such that…"

And so it went.

With the next hand of days, a rough outline began to emerge as Ansen maneuvered the trio around their reflexive reactions. "Which one shall I add to the agreement, my Lord? The proposed independent transit guild or enforcement of the 1148 agreement on regional tolls? Either would effectively provide for distributed costs of transit, although some may find the 1148 clauses favor any eastern based landowners."

Transit. Land sales. Trade goods. Security. Water tax. Construction of a regional mill. Rights to hunt waterfowl. Details and more details.

Outside their walls, the weather eased somewhat although the surrounding hills were still cloaked in rain. The Guard provided unflagging support, their foragers constantly supplementing the camp rations with spring greens and small game. Ansen had a quiet word with the Guard commander and the meals underwent a subtle decline.

"Herald, I'm not quite sure I understand." Captain Ivorson was polite, but quite clearly baffled. "You want the cooks to _ruin_ the food?"

Ansen shook his head gravely, but his eyes twinkled. "Captain, I would never ask your cooks to…dishonor… their work that way. I'm just asking them to not do it quite so well."

"Sir?" Her eyebrows rose, begging an explanation.

"Captain, how long have we been at this so far?"

"Seventeen days sir, since the parties arrived."

"And how would you say it's going so far?"

"Milord Herald? If you're asking of Corporals Dren and Borden have gossiped about the meetings…"

"No, nothing like that," Ansen's headshake was firm. "I've no concerns about the probity of your people whatsoever. However…you're a professional, Captain. I'm quite sure you've taken the temper of our guests and are alert for any possibility of trouble. How likely would you put that at, at this present time?"

Captain Ivorson rocked back and forth as she considered the question. The Captain was older than Ansen by a considerable margin and it was unlikely in the extreme she would advance beyond her present rank, a situation which suited the Captain perfectly. A lifelong struggle with the written word had left her, (as she was wont to put it) 'As likely to read tea leaves as a field manual'. This circumstance meant that the staff work and study required of higher rank would always be beyond her grasp, so instead, she had turned her formidable mind to mastering as many of the many aspects and trades of soldiering as possible.

"When they got here, I would have put them a whisker from blows." It was frank. "I made sure we kept them and their retainers well apart from one another. I didn't even let the grooms draw water, lest someone accuse another of tainting the well. And a guard on everything that could be pilfered, vandalized or otherwise interfered with."

"And now?"

The Captain's eyes narrowed. "Now…hunkered down, like badgers in their setts. Rabid badgers, to be sure, but not snarling dogs anymore." She nodded thoughtfully. "Hunkered down indeed. And you think to dig them out?"

Ansen gave a small negating wave of his hand. "Not dig them out so much as make the burrow less comfortable than the alternative. If the cook could just…a minute two long on the vegetables so as to make them a trifle less crisp and flavourful. A lighter hand on the salt and seasonings…" He trailed off.

"Aye, Herald. I see it now. Just enough to remind them that home's a better draw than sitting here arguing in the cold and rain."

"Exactly."

###

When negotiations resumed, it was without Aztenzia Lisle. Lady Chapel Hall had, it seemed, been taken unwell. Ansen immediately provided the services of the Guard's Healer, who, after a thorough examination, reported that the Lady was simply suffering a normal digestive upset. He prescribed a restorative tea and a day or two of rest.

Interestingly, without Lady Lisle's presence, they made substantial grounds on the agreement. Ansen had long since realized that there was absolutely nothing that Lady Lisle hoped to gain from this process, it was simply that she wanted everyone else – the Vernenens in particular – to lose. It had made the work particularly trying since there was no concession, trade or clause to offer which would remove her resistance.

Without his wife's constant mutters of "Are you sure that's for the best?" "I think you can get a better deal." "Is that wise?" ringing in his ears, Whillard Lisle was more than prepared to move forward. If she remained indisposed for a day or two more, they might actually succeed in concluding an agreement.

# # #

Private Mils Broderick had three problems and wasn't sure how he was going to manage any of them.

The first, his youth, would hopefully sort itself out with the simple application of time. Mils was by far the youngest and most junior member of the Guard posted at the Waystation, being a bare two months out of Basic Training.

During Basic Training, Recruit Broderick had been appalled at the depth of his homesickness and equally determined that no one find out about this shameful defect. Shy to the point of near-silence, Mils had thrown himself into training with a manic fervor, hoping to mask his (in his mind), many inadequacies in 'well, he sure tried hard.'

Much to his surprise, his camouflage seemed to have succeeded and he managed to accomplish his training with a modest degree of success. His tendency to say very little but listen a great deal meant that he was often in a position to notice useful little things, such as when the instructors scooped up extra oatmeal bars and stuffed them into the pockets of their rucksacks.

Broderick had copied them and, in a logical follow up, made sure his canteen was full (the oatmeal bars were notably dry and gummy.) When a surprise drill was called that night and the recruits found themselves on a two-day march where they were expected to forage for themselves, Mils extra bounty was regarded as a mild form of military genius.

Between incidents like this and a habit of saying little except the obvious wisdom of their sergeants, Recruit Broderick found himself possessing an unexpected reputation for sagacity and military ability. Which is why shortly after graduating, the newly minted Private found himself filling a vacant spot in a sensitive posting in The Comb and stumbling through the dark woods outside the camp.

It also explained his second problem. No-one, particularly boot Privates, were supposed to be outside the camp. The sergeants had passed on the pronouncement with all the solemnity of the Queen passing sentence. The woods were patrolled, and anyone straying outside the lines was likely to be shot first, questioned later.

Private Broderick had no intention of disobeying that order. Which was why, when he snuck away from the tent, he'd tried to make sure he was inside the patrol lines. But it was awfully dark out and one clump of trees looked a lot like another and he wondered if he hadn't gone maybe a bit too far…

But that was his second problem and it was his third problem which was making itself known with increasing urgency. He was determined that there was no way his bunkmates would get wind of _this_ little problem until he figured it out for himself. Which meant avoiding the latrine trench at all costs.

With a resigned sigh, Mils Broderick unbuckled his breeks and let fly. A cautious sniff confirmed his worst suspicions. What on _earth_ could he have done to make his piss smell like that? He thought back to the lectures from the Healer they'd had about diseases 'down there' and even in the darkness, he could feel his face heat. He and that pretty shop maid hadn't done anything more than a bit of cuddling and she'd let his hands wander pretty freely…that couldn't have done it, could it? He couldn't remember quite what the Healer had said except for how he'd stared very hard at his boots and tried to stick to the shadows during all that talk.

His bladder eventually drained, Mils finally let himself relax a bit. He could hear the rustling creek not too far off and relaxed even further with the knowledge that it would lead him back to camp.

It was the silence which warned him. The night birds and crickets paused in their chorus and in the spaces in the trees, dark forms darted. His first thought was that it was a herd of deer, but a deeper instinct countermanded that wishful thought.

"INTRUDERS! STAND TO ARMS! INTRUD…." His cry was cut off as his world went dark.


	5. Chapter 5

_:Wake up!::_ Kandrel was on his feet, a white shape in the darkness. Ansen was a bare second behind, roused by the same distant shout. Impressions, thoughts, _feelings_ flowing between them told Ansen that whatever was going on, Kandrel could neither hear nor see any immediate threat. It told him he had enough time to jam his feet into his boots and snatch up the belt with knife and sword.

"Hear anything?" Ansen didn't bother with a bow in the darkness, but he made sure he had both knife and sword with him.

 _::Not yet. I can see out the window – the Guard is falling out but there's no one in sight yet.::_

"Good. I didn't want to do the obvious and charge out the door into a hail of arrows." Ansen swung up on Kandrel's back, crouched low with one hand knotted firmly in the Companion's mane. "Ready."

Kandrel grabbed the door latch in his teeth – left long for just this reason – and swung the door open. The Companion paused for a second before leaping up and over the threshold. He'd barely landed before twisting and changing direction, using a Companion's gift of astonishing speed to cover the clearing in mere strides.

No arrows followed them, and the only sounds were the orderly sounds of the Guard moving to their stations.

"Well, I feel a bit silly," Ansen muttered.

 _::If it's smart and keeps you alive, it's not silly,::_ Kandrel retorted. There was no time for Ansen to respond before Kandrel shot forward again as a hail of burning arrows flew out of the darkness.

 _::Missed us.::_ Kandrel observed, never standing still to provide anyone a target.

"The ones they aim for us won't be on fire," Ansen pointed out. "I'm quite sure we're not intended to see those coming."

 _::They aimed for the Waystation, outbuildings and tents, just like you predicted. Good thing you insisted on stone and slate for the building.::_

"Three weeks of rain doesn't hurt either. The tents aren't burning, thank havens. Where's Captain Ivorson?"

"Here Herald." The familiar form separated itself from a knot of low-voiced figures. "Your guests are safe – we're moving them to the Waystation for safety."

"Do we know who's out there yet?"

A headshake. "Not yet. I've one man unaccounted for and everyone else has fallen back to their defensive points. Without knowing what's out there, I'm not quite ready to go on the offensive until I'm sure this isn't a feint. I've sent for reinforcements as well."

Ansen nodded in acknowledgment. "I know it goes against the grain, but our first priority must be to protect the three families. Harm to any of them could start a conflagration which will burn for generations. For the time being, this is strictly a defensive fight."

"Aye, Herald. I'm glad we had the time to prepare. This isn't as easy a nut to crack as it seems."

Indeed it wasn't. In addition to the altered Waystation, the Guard had put their construction skills to good use. Veritable thickets of sharpened stakes were sown throughout the treeline. Although not much thicker than a man's thumb, they were crossed and layered everywhere save a few carefully watched pathways. The stakes would do little harm – their function was to slow and frustrate an advancing foe.

The clear paths, used for the Guard on their own patrols, were well monitored and had a few of their own surprises, mostly in the form of 'ankle breaker' holes and a sprung bolt trigger or two.

 _::I can hear them. They found the weakness in the stake line.::_

"Good." The stake line had been carefully designed. Neither Ansen nor the Captain expected to face an army and the defenses reflected this. Rather, their plan foresaw an unknown number of more or less experienced fighting men but who fought as individuals, not as a cohesive group. Ansen's main fear was that he might face a leader with some actual military experience who thought – and fought – strategically. If that were the case, things might get interesting until reinforcements arrived.

Ivorson's thicket of stakes was designed to spread and slow. A few areas were slightly easier to pass, funneling their foe into a few carefully selected tracks.

Screams punctuated the night as one of those trackes opened up, a deep hole swallowing three of the attackers. Two died instantly on the stakes within while the third wept and screamed.

On cue, a dozen men flipped back heavy covers and set a match to a carefully aimed crossbow bolt. Ducking down again into a shallow trench, the men then tugged on the rope attached to the triggers. Eleven of the twelve flew true, striking canvas sacks of pitch and oil carefully tied to tree trunks. The burning mixture flowed down the trunks, creating living torches to clearly illuminate the coming foe.

 _::I wouldn't have wanted to do that without the rain. Last thing we need is a forest fire::_

Blinded by the sudden glare, their enemies still in darkness, the attackers had little choice now but to retreat or charge. They charged.

Bowstrings hummed as the defenders arrows sought targets. There was only time for the one volley and bows were dropped and swords taken up.

Instead of the sleeping sentries they'd hoped to find, the attackers found themselves facing a well-prepared line of defenders, bucklers and swords ready as the attackers broke out of the woods in twos and threes.

Herald and Companion took their place in the defender's line, anchoring the end closest to the Waystation.

Time and again the attackers closed, moving in to slash and strike before melting back into the treeline. Testing. Feinting. Throwing weight first against one spot, then another.

"Fire!" It wasn't a voice Ansen recognized and he didn't dare look. The man in front of him held all his attention. The fellow was doing a remarkable job of dodging Kandrel's feet while the man's blade flicked in and out, trying to land a blow on one of them.

 _::What's burning?::_ Ansen twisted his wrist, attempting to bind the man's blade. The fellow stepped aside, the bole of a tree blocking Kandrel's flashing forefoot.

 _::The tents. I think someone tossed oil on them. There's no one inside. I think it's supposed to distract us.::_

 _::Or deprive us of supplies. At least one of the storage sheds is on fire as well.::_

 _::Not for long. It's raining again.::_ Kandrel grunted as he felt Ansen's blow strike home, the shock of the contact traveling from rider to Companion.

In the grey crepuscular light of pre-dawn, their foes withdrew, melting back into the woods. Captain Ivorson pushed her scouts out just far enough to determine if the enemy had truly retreated. While they did so, the Guard took advantage of the opportunity to tend their own wounded and see to the defenses.

"They've not gone far ma'am. Not more than a couple miles. Holed up in some rocks. I'm sure they saw us, but we wasn't followed. I've a feeling there might be a cave system up there but we didn't think you wanted us to get that close."

"You're quite right, Scout. Observe and report was all."

A sketched salute. "There's more ma'am. Josin found a bit of a goat track along the spine of the ridge to the east. Fresh tracks ma'am. Half a dozen mules, heavy laden and another dozen men on foot."

"Supplies and reinforcements then." The Captain looked at Ansen, who nodded his agreement with her assessment.

"Thank you, you and Josin both. Make sure you get a hot meal in you before you go to ground."

Thus dismissed by his Captain, the scout trotted off.

"How are our numbers?" Ansen was as grimy and mud splashed as any of the Guard, his Whites streaked with ash from putting out the fires.

"Four dead, seven wounded with one of those serious. We've found nine enemies dead so far and we know they took their wounded with them. Including you and Kandrel here, we've twenty-one effective combatants. Twenty-three if we arm the two least seriously wounded."

"And they sent about forty at us. Between losses and the reinforcements we know of…we're looking at about the same numbers if they come back, less however many wounded they have."

 _::Quite a few wounded, judging from the blood trails. But I wouldn't count on that for keeping their numbers down. As you pointed out, we don't know if they got reinforcements we don't know about. Or if they sent their whole force the first time::_

Ansen gave a grim grunt of agreement before passing this information on to the Captain. She didn't look any more happy than the Herald.

"How are your guests managing, Herald?"

Ansen's tone was dry. "While they are happy to be safe, they are less than happy to be locked in the same room together. Unfortunately for them, I don't think it wise to have them wandering about the camp when our enemies could make a reappearance at any time. Two of your Guardsmen are arranging areas within the Waystation to accommodate everyone. Lady Lisle isn't sure what to be more indignant about – that she's forced into the same accommodation as Wulfric Vernenen or that the servants will be in the same building."

"We could house the servants with the Guard…" the Captain offered.

A grimace. "Thank you, but no. While I don't know _who_ attacked us, I _am_ certain that one of these Houses is behind it. Until we get this figured out, I don't dare put a potential enemy so close to our defense."

Ivorson nodded her understanding of the Herald's reasoning. "Aye."

"By the way – did you ever find your missing man? Part of me wonders if he wasn't somehow part of all this."

A snort. "Oh, we found him alright. He's got a hellacious headache, but the Healer says he'll be just fine. Private Broderick's only part in this was that he was the one who gave the first warning. Dumb bugger got lost in the woods on his way to take a leak and stumbled onto our unwelcome guests."

Eyebrows rose. "What was he doing out there? Did he lose the latrine trench?"

Humour warred with exasperation on the Captain's face. "No…seems he'd never eaten asparagus before."

Ansen smothered a smile. "And he found the results alarming?"

"Mm hmm. He was mortified and trying to hide it. Snuck out to use a bush and ended up way outside the camp."

Ansen reflected that if one wasn't expecting the visual and olfactory changes that happened to some folks' urine after consuming asparagus, yes, it would definitely be alarming. On the other hand, the fellow's embarrassment had likely saved the camp even as it had nearly gotten the fellow killed. From Ansen's perspective, it seemed an even trade. He just hoped the fellow learned something from all this.

The Herald shook his head ruefully. "I'm going to see to our guests and Kandrel. You know where to find me if I'm needed."

"Aye, Herald." With a salute, the Captain strode off to inspect the defenses.

# # #

"You can't keep us here! We're not your prisoners!" Aztenzia Lisle was flinging complaints even before Ansen was completely in the door. He stopped and regarded her calmly.

"And where, milady, do you think I should put you? Would you and Lord Lisle be willing to share a Guardsman's two-man bivouac tent? Or would you prefer to sleep under the stars? I may be able to find a wagon bed for you, but alas, no roof. This Waystation or the mud, milady, those are your options. Choose, I implore you."

"You wouldn't dare!" she spat the words.

"Dare? No, Lady Lisle, not dare. But the situation is as I have described to you. This structure is the sole housing which remains. The alternative is out there, under a scrap of canvas or the stars – while someone tries to kill you, I might add.

"My Lady, you have tried mightily to bend this conclave to your will. But you cannot bend objective truth, try as you might and screaming will not make it so."

She drew breath again, her face a remarkable shade of puce. Ansen raised his hand. "My Lady, if your next words are intemperate, I will have you gagged. There is an enemy out there who, for reasons as yet unknown, wants us dead. I decline to accept those terms and I refuse be distracted by your tantrums. Temperance or silence. Decide."

A handspan later, Aztenzia Lisle glared at Ansen from over a gag while a stone-faced Guardsman made certain of the knots. Whillard Lisle looked shocked and Vissa Polleck sat stiff and still, distancing herself from her mother's misbehaviour. Lord and Lady Vernenen were unable to completely hide their looks of satisfaction at this development, but to their credit, they at least tried.

"Private, you will remain with Lady Lisle, ensuring that she is at all times comfortable and able to breathe freely. In exactly one-half candlemark, you may remove the gag. Hopefully we will not need to revisit this circumstance." The Herald paused for comment, but there was none.

"Very well. My Lords, you will accompany me. I require your assistance in getting to the bottom of this."

The three rose, glancing at each other uncertainly.

"Herald Ansen? What is it you need of us?" Ross Polleck, Ansen noted, was being very careful to be polite.

"I want to know if any of you can identify the men we killed." The Herald's dark eyes bored into each of them.

"We can try."

# # #

The Guard had gathered up the dead and laid them off to one side. Already a team was digging a burial pit. To the Lords' credit, they were thorough in their examination of the nine dead men; looking closely at faces, hands, clothing.

"Sword calluses on all of 'em," Wulfric muttered thoughtfully.

"Mm. And not the scarred knuckles and broken noses you'd expect to find from habitual brawlers." Whillard Lisle added this with a glance of grudging agreement to his counterpart.

"Herald, these men are healthy and well clothed. They're dirty, but not grimy, not like they've been living rough. These aren't brigands. They had employment, homes." Ross Polleck looked up at Ansen, his eyes troubled.

Ansen nodded in agreement, but said nothing. The Herald's attention was on Whillard Lisle.

Lord Lisle had worked his way carefully down the row of dead, stopping to examine each carefully. Now, he came back and stood at the feet of one man, staring pensively at the closed, still face.

"My Lord?" Ansen prodded. "Do you know him?"

Lisle hesitated, then shook his head. "I don't think so. But he's familiar somehow." He looked up at Ansen, his expression sour. "Use your Herald's magic on me if you want, but my answer will be the same. It's like he's the fellow that you see one or twice a year but are never introduced to. You know you've seen him before, but you can't say where, or who he is."


	6. Chapter 6

Ansen released the men to return to the Waystation while he followed behind more slowly. Heralds are trained to be decisive – and bear the responsibility for those decisions – but given a preference, they make considered decisions, not hasty ones.

As part of his attention listened to the various reports and catalogued the preparations, the main part of his mind dissected his next steps.

Continue with the negotiations or suspend them?

Retreat to safety or assume the Guard message had been received and await relief?

Press his nobles for answers or take a more measured approach?

Pros and cons, action and reaction, outcomes and implications. He weighed each of them, measuring them against his experience and training, then held them up against his instincts, gauging what he knew each party wanted.

 _::I feel you thinking. Have you come to any conclusions?::_

"I have." Wordlessly, Ansen laid out his reasoning and his proposed course of action, felt Kandrel's assent.

 _::I agree that using the Truth Spell at this point may do more harm than good. At least some of them are almost certainly innocent parties and it's possible they all are. Not likely, mind, but possible.::_

"True. Let's go wrestle a grizzly or two, shall we?" and he pushed open the door of the Waystation.

# # #

All his guests were tired and frightened. Ansen found it interesting to notice who seemed to be the most concerned and who the least. Foreknowledge? Bravado? Obliviousness? Hard to tell and not something he was going to waste energy trying to figure out.

Aztenzia Lisle was ungagged and, if not silent, at least confined herself to hissing under her breath. Ansen elected not to pay any attention.

"Herald Ansen, is now the best time to continue this? I mean…aren't there other things that need doing right now?" Vissa Polleck asked the question that needed to be asked and Ansen lowered his eyes in a faint nod of thanks.

"Honored guests, now is as good a time as any. We have made much progress of late and I believe an agreement – and lasting peace for your lands – is within reach. Here in this building is the safest place for many miles and the Guard has our defenses well in hand. Were it that adding our own hands and labour would benefit, I assure you that I would urge just that."

His guests' expressions at the notion that they would join the Guard in hewing trees and digging earthworks varied from intelligent acceptance through disgust and utter confusion. Ansen felt Kandrel's eye roll at the latter two responses.

"Now then, when we last met, we had resolved the matter of tax incentives used to recruit skilled labourers between holdings. Now let us move onto the question of livestock breeding rights. Lord Wulfric, you raised a concern that access to certain beneficial bloodlines is being withheld on the basis of…"

...

"Now, are you all agreed that no one wants the Compact of 1387 on grains to be upheld? Very well, I will ensure we include phrasing which repeals all its clauses. Now, about barley and hops, was there a consensus on brewing?"...

Being shot at apparently had a salubrious effect on at least some of the participants, for many of the pro-forma objections fell away. Progress was steady, but there was much ground to cover. Opening up the region's past had revealed a tremendous range of issues to be resolved.

"Milord Herald!" The knock at the door was brisk, but not panicked. Not an attack then. At Ansen's assent, the exterior door opened.

The Guardsman nodded respectfully. "Captain's compliments sir. We've caught a couple of enemy scouts and she sent us to get you. They haven't been questioned yet."

All six of the nobles jerked upright, like puppets on strings. "Herald Ansen…I insist…be allowed to observe…" the volume on the babble rose rapidly as each tried to secure their place at the questioning.

Ansen raised a hand and the noise drifted to a halt.

"Lords and Ladies, I concur that you should hear this information. In the interest of openness, I agree that you should hear it first hand. _However_ , you will not participate. You may observe, but no more. If you cannot agree, you are free to abstain."

Six nods, some very reluctant, met his gaze.

It turned out that the only place to gather more than a dozen people was the waystation itself. It took nearly a quarter mark to move furniture and whatnot around before they could proceed.

# # #

They questioned the two men separately. The pair had been caught trying to scout the Waystation defenses. As Ansen understood it, the pairs' scouting skills led a great deal to be desired and they had managed to trigger at least three of the perimeter warning lines before the Guard caught up with them.

The first man was blond and lean, his hair and beard neatly trimmed. His gear, laid out for examination, was adequate, but showed signs of wear and lack of maintenance.

"You have been detained on suspicion of banditry. You have the right to speak in your own defense and present witnesses or evidence in support of this defense. Do you understand?"

The man had jerked his head up at the word 'banditry' but offered only a terse "Aye" in response to the question.

"Do you wish to make any statement at this time?" A mute headshake was the only response.

Ansen bit back a sigh.

"Very well. Your name, place of residence and trade, if you have one."

"Shannor Burke. I live in the mine hold, near Anterioth."

Wulfric Vernenen bit back an outburst at this, silenced by the Herald's quelling look.

"Your trade?"

"Mine Guard." The man clamped his mouth shut on further response.

"Lord Vernenen? Do you know this man?" Ansen looked past Burke to where Vernenen was whispering hotly with his wife.

Wulfric broke off his whispers with a flush. "I can't say I've ever met the man, but I recognize the name from the hire roll. There is indeed a man by the name Shannor Burke listed as one of the mine guards, but I cannot say if this is him."

"Did you participate in the attack on this camp last night?"

"I did not." There was a smirking glint in Burke's eye as he said this.

Of all those watching, only Ivorson and Ansen were unsurprised by the response. The dead they had examined had all worn identical and well cared for gear. Shannor Burke, whoever he was, clearly seemed to have a different origin.

"Why are you here?" It was a simple question – and the most important.

Burke didn't meet Ansen's gaze, but simply shook his head.

"You seem to have left me no choice." Ansen closed his eyes and invoked the second stage Truth Spell. Although Ansen's Gifts were modest, he ranked amongst the strongest in the Circle when it came to the Truth Spell. The familiar glow settled around Burke and he squirmed a bit in his seat as the spell pushed him to speak.

"Why are you here?"

Burke fought the compulsion, sweating and shivering until the words were dragged from him. "We came to break up the talks. To kill Lisle if we could."

It took several moments for the clamour to die down, moments that Burke used to take deep gulps of air.

It only took a few more questions before Burke gave in, the words flooding from him.

"Our foreman was approached moons ago, when the new vein was found. It was unsettling, the idea of having to share it with Polleck. Our foremen explained it, how it should be ours, you know. Me and my mates, we shed blood protecting our gold and we'll be damned if we're going to share it just because it crosses a bit of Polleck land.

"Then this fellow, he says to our foreman 'You got good cause to be unhappy and things are only going to get worse for you. Polleck's daughter is set to marry the young Wulf and then where will you be? Sharing your hard work with those chiselling Pollecks.' Then the fellow says 'Maybe I can help with your problem and we can help each other. I need a few good men who want to see right done. Put paid to this wedding nonsense and everything will go back to the way it should be.'"

The group exchanged puzzled glances. Clearly, someone had done a good job of feeding Shannor's Burke dislike of the Pollecks. It did not, however, explain why Burke had planned to kill Lord Lisle, not when there was a pair of Pollecks so near at hand.

"It was all worked out. Everyone knew there was to be no personal guards, just a servant or two. All we had to worry about was the Guard and the Herald. Even with his trained horse, a Herald's just a man."

Burke's grin was sly as he looked at each of them, the Truth Spell making him expansive. "And none of it to be our fault you see. No lawbreaking for us! Let them do the dirty work and the dying. It's no wonder we was a day late now, was it? No accident a'tall how the gear just weren't ready for us to leave in time, nor prepared when we got here.

"So Hatcher's men, they struck last night. Only they missed, you see? Oh, there was some cackling and fists about that, let me tell you! Hatcher himself was fit to be tied! But – it's too late now, isn't it? This is his only chance and now that the race has begun, well, he's nowhere left to go. Kill or be killed, he's got no choice now.

"And so tonight, we all come in. Hatcher and his men take out Polleck for us, pretty as you please. Then we take out Hatcher's men. We're sworn mine guards, you see, so killing bandits ain't a crime for us. Polleck dead, the wedding ended. We're the only ones left standing so it's our tale to tell. And we'll just come out heroes afterwards. Maybe," and Burke giggled at the idea, "we'll even get a bounty. Can you imagine it? Polleck dead and we get _paid_ for it?"

Ansen cut off the Truth Spell, too disgusted to hear any more.

Wulfric Vernenen was on his feet, frantically disavowing knowledge of the plot or anyone associated with it. Ross Polleck had moved away from Vernenen and was demanding answers while the rest of the group lobbed accusations around like well rotted eggs.

"ENOUGH!" Captain Ivorson was used to making herself heard on a drill square. A confined room was not a challenge. Even that was not enough and it took several moments for the hubbub to subside. Ansen prudently moved the three groups apart and stationed Guards between them. He was glad he had disarmed them on the first day.

"Enough." It was quiet this time. "Shannor Burke – two remaining questions for now. First, why did you want to kill Lord Lisle and second, who is Hatcher?" The blue glow returned.

"Don't want to kill Lord Lisle. No point. Specially told – Lord and Lady Lisle not to be harmed. Hatcher…our foreman calls him that, 'cause he hatched the plan, see?" Burke was calm.

Ansen threw up his hand to forestall comment from the watchers. "Which Lisle were you trying to kill?"

"Hatcher, of course. He's a Lisle. Foreman says so. Got to kill him – cut the head off the snake. Hatcher knows too much. He's the lead bandit, so it's not murder."

Ansen and Ivorson exchanged a look. "Herald, I'll make sure he's locked down tight and speaks to no one. This is…" She didn't bother to finish.

"Twisted. If there were no Herald here to verify their word, there's enough bare plausibility in all of it that they might have succeeded."

# # #

The second captive was a match for the men killed the night before. Although they wore no insignia or arms, they were clearly an organized group. Like his dead fellows, this man was healthy and fit, his hands bearing sword calluses.

The man gave his name and home readily, Whillard Lisle wincing in recognition of one of his villages.

Ansen repeated the statement of rights and, like Burke, Alisdair Seddle declined to make a statement of defense, his demeanor dull and defeated.

In a flat monotone, he answered the questions Ansen put before him, the glow of the Truth Spell never wavering.

"We are, all of us, sworn arms-men of House Lisle." Whillard gave a wordless wail at this statement.

"We were told, and some of us believed, that a wrong had been done the House in years past, namely the murder of Poll Lisle by hanging. Those that did not believe this was a matter of honor were willing to take the gold and mouth the words, but it was all for the same end – the death of Ross Polleck and such others of his line as we could manage.

"To this end, an alliance was made with the mine guards at Anterioth. The enmity of House Vernenen and Lisle is will known and no one would believe such an agreement possible. They were to kill Polleck and we would make sure they did not survive to speak of our agreement."

 _::Unsurprising, that. I can see we are going to have to completely rethink the local security arrangements for this sector. I think Selenay is going go rescind the right to maintain their own mine guards. And build a couple of new Guard outposts while she's at it.::_

 _"And I can think of three Houses that are going to pay for it."_ It was grim.

"Alisdair Seddle, who was your leader in this? Who made the arrangements with the Vernenen guards and provided your own arms and equipment?"

Seddle looked up and met his Lord's eyes briefly before dropping them. "Jerrit Lisle."

Whillard Lisle looked ill, his face aged and drawn. "My nephew. My brother's son. When Poll died, I made sure the boy was brought into my own house and given education and opportunity. I had hoped to point his mind to the future, not the past. When he came of age, I gave him stewardship of a small manor and lands so he could build his life. I…did not know…that his hatred ran so deep as this." A shuddering breath, and Lisle continued. "I know now who the dead man is, although I had not seen him since he was a very young lad, barely standing at his mother's knee. Devrick Lisle, Jerrit's son and my grand-nephew." He slumped in his seat, broken with sorrow.


	7. Chapter 7

As the Guardsmen took the prisoners away, Ansen felt like his energy was leaving with them. Two families trying to kill the third – and betray each other while doing so. This day had stretched on far too long and was not nearly done yet. Even so, the light outside was grey with the approaching dusk and incipient rain. The six faces before him reflected his own fatigue and worry.

"Gentlefolk," he tried to keep his voice smooth. "I know I state the obvious in saying we are all tired and fraught. This day began in the dark of night and, like a runaway horse, has dragged us with it." Wan smiles from a few faces acknowledged his words.

"I very much believe that our foes will strike again and soon. They will, by now, have discovered their missing fellows and must assume that we have them. They have only two choices at this point – decisive victory or retreat and I fear they are too deep in this now to think they can retreat." His gaze flickered over the assemblage, noting those willing to meet his eyes and those who glanced away.

"We know we have a daunting array of enemies before us. We cannot afford a foe at our backs and I will not risk a blade in the dark if it turns out any of you are involved in this…plan." A pause. "I will have only one question for you under the Truth Spell: "Did you have any knowledge or suspicion of either plot before today?"

The sextet exchanged wary looks, but seemed relieved that the questioning would be confined to the one inquiry.

One by one, they testified under the compulsion of the Truth Spell. Ross Polleck and his wife were, to no one's surprise, clearly innocent. Ansen had considered that Ross might have worked through agents on either side so as to appear the victim, or his wife engaged in a deep-laid assassination attempt, but he had – correctly, it seemed – reckoned those notions as unlikely.

Wulfric Vernenen and his wife were equally innocent, Wulfric clearly incensed at his renegade guard force and his threats of dire retribution were completely sincere.

Whillard Lisle, like his counterpart Lords, was innocent of any direct knowledge. To judge from his pained expression as the Truth Spell compelled him to speak _all_ the Truth, he had…wondered.

"I didn't speak to anyone on this, nor did I provide arms or any support. I did not know that Jerrit was so aggrieved, or that he had any plans. But…" his shoulders sagged, "There were times that I…wondered…about Aztenzia. I knew she was untruthful about some of her spending, or where she had been, but I swear, I never suspected this. I would have put a stop to it, had I known. I…I thought she had taken a paramour, but my pride would not let me ask." He did not see the looks of sympathy Wulfric and Ross offered.

Aztenzia Lisle was pale, but defiant. "I'm guilty of nothing, Herald. Go ahead, ask your question!"

She did not fight the compulsion, nor did she flinch at the question. "Yes, I gave gold to Jerrit, and yes, I spoke to him without my husband's knowledge. I knew Jerrit's feelings and I believe his anger is justified. I knew he planned to oppose the marriage and of Jerrit's hatred of Ross Polleck.

"I did not know that he planned to kill anyone. I knew there might be some kind of violence, but I thought it would be to goods, or the mine works. Not people. Not murder."

"Did you want Ross Polleck dead?" Ansen was quiet.

"Yes, but not by murder. Suspicion would have fallen on Vissa, the wife is usually the first suspected. I would have been happy to see him gone. I do not regret that the gold I gave Jerrit was put to this use, but I did not set out to purchase murder or the death of anyone. I would have been just as happy had my son-in-law have fallen down a mine shaft or been trampled by a horse as dead by Jerrit's plans. I am not guilty of murder, lord Herald."

Ansen sighed. "But you are very guilty, Lady Lisle, and if we survive the next few days, you will answer for that." He shook his head. "In the meantime, we have to live through the next few candlemarks. I will have Lady Lisle confined to her sleeping quarters – such as they are – and set a guard. I cannot risk that she will in some way try to assist her nephew. Lord Lisle, I'm afraid you are constrained from speaking with your wife at least for the next while."

Lord Lisle gave a faint shrug. His body had shifted, opening a space between himself and his wife and he had not looked at her since she had ended her testimony.

"In the meantime, we must prepare a defense. My Lords, I will require your assistance in this."

###

In the gathering gloom and wet drizzle, the Herald the three Lords examined the preparations, pointing and gesturing as they discussed possible enemy approaches and the appropriate response.

"Lord Polleck, I would station you here, behind these earthworks. I know you are much sought by both groups of our foes, but we are too few defenders and I need your sword arm. Placed here, there is no chance of your being flanked without always having a means to retreat to the Waystation at need. You will have a stout group of Guards at your side always.

"Lord Lisle, I would put you here, at the far-most flank. You still have a means of falling back although not so assured, and I think it likely you will be pressed less vigorously from this point."

Lisle grunted. "If that's a fancy way of saying I've got a couple of decades on Polleck here and might not have the wind anymore, you'd be right. Aye, I'll stand here."

Ansen turned to the last man, his hands out. "Lord Vernenen…"

A gravelly laugh, short and barking burst from Wulfric Vernenen. "Herald, I've got even more years than Lisle there. I know my arm's not up to standing with you lot. But there's no reason I can't draw a bow. Even if it's not a heavy one, an arrow or a dozen will help."

"In the rain…" Ansen raised an eyebrow.

"If I stand in the doorway of the Waystation, my string will stay dry and I'll be able to see just fine if we light no lamps inside. If nothing else, it will free an able-bodied man from guarding the doorway."

"And will that door be open if we come running to it?" The lightness of Ross's tone belied the seriousness of the question.

Wulfric took no offense. "Aye, Polleck, it will. I'll hold the door until I fall, or the foes are on the threshold. You have my word on that."

After the briefest of pauses, his peers nodded.

"Good enough. My Lords, we have a brief respite. I suggest we take this opportunity to eat and prepare."

# # #

The waiting was always the worst. After a hasty meal, Ansen and the others had emerged to take their stations. Unlike the night before, all – including Kandrel – were fully armed and armoured. The Herald's Whites and the blazons on the Lord's cloaks and gear stood in stark contrast to the muted blue and brown of the Guard.

Neither Delia Vernenen nor Vissa Polleck had any ability with arms, Delia mostly sniffling or sobbing daintily in her bed. Vissa had accepted a long knife for self defense but admitted it would likely be useless if it came to that. Aztenzia Lisle was unrestrained, but under the watchful eye of a Guardsmen whose leg had been broken during the last battle. The strung bow and nocked arrow he held in his lap ensured Aztenzia's good behaviour.

As they settled in to their stations, so did the rain, thickening and thundering overhead.

"I'm wondering if they'll even make the attempt, given the weather."

 _::They will. I think you were right. They have no choice. If they flee, we'll just hunt them down. If they win, they get to write the ending they want.::_

"That's assuming the right people are alive to hear it."

 _::True. I think they intended for a decisive win last night and now they're scrambling.::_

"Let's hope their confusion works in our favour. Usually, it's the other way around." He reached out and stroked Kandrel's neck. "I wish we could end this some other way. The butcher's bill will be terrible."

 _::I know. But unless the Guard gets here in time, at least two of the parties in this conflict stand to be wiped out if we don't succeed.::_

# # #

In the thunder and rain, it was impossible to hear their foes approaching. Likewise, was it impossible for the enemy to coordinate their attacks. They broke from the trees in an irregular wave, clots of attackers launching themselves at the defenders. In moments, the battle devolved into little knots of two or three men, a multitude of duels in the dark.

It was chaos, and it cost the attackers dearly.

The Guard knew exactly where their fellows were supposed to be. They knew the ground and the layout of the defenses. They knew, by the feel of the jerkin in the struggle if the person before them was friend or foe. They knew each other's voices and the smell of their uniforms when the dyed wool was wet.

Kandrel needed no such cues to know which shapes were allies and which were targets. Of course, if someone was coming at Ansen with an upraised sword, it didn't take a genius to figure out it they needed a forefoot directed at their face. The pair battled grimly, holding their assigned position in the defenses, white shapes in the darkness around them.

 _::Ansen! Lord Polleck!::_

Kandrel charged through the embattled clusters around him, aiming them for the corner where Lord Polleck fought a trio of men, two of Jerrik Lisle's, the other a burly mine guard. The Lord's Guard protectors lay sprawled in on the ground, both attackers and defender stumbling around the still forms.

Kandrel bugled, the sound overtaking even the thunder as Ansen screamed. "LORD POLLECK!" For the briefest of moments, heads turned towards the cry.

Ross Polleck stepped back, tripping over the Guardsman at his feet. He twisted frantically, his sword flailing. He managed to deflect one of the blades, but the second man lunged and blood erupted from Ross Polleck's neck, flooding over his gorget and chest.

"The whelp is dead!" The two Lisle men crowed their victory, the cry spreading from throat to throat throughout the camp.

"Murderer! Bandit! Kill them all!" The mine guard bellowed and turned, striking the man who had killed Ross Polleck a blow that doubled the man over. A second blow and the man fell, still.

It spread outward from there like an infection. Lisle's men and mine guards turned from their Guard targets and began attacking each other, the tenuous alliance dissolved. The Guardsmen broke off, withdrawing from these new battles.

Fortunately for the Guard, it was several long minutes before the former allies realized the folly of turning on one another _before_ the Guard had been fully subdued. Caught up in their own internecine struggles, they were easy targets for the now-unhampered Guard. It wasn't entirely bloodless – the Guard's attempts to disable instead of kill were not always successful and more than one of the raiders simply refused to yield and at least two were killed by their former allies after the Guard had disabled them. It seemed an eternity before the last combatant dropped his blade in surrender.

 _::If this were a Bard's tale, the rain would stop at the same time the fighting did.::_ Kandrel kept one forefoot delicately on a raider's knee while Ansen secured the man's arms.

 _"If this were a Bard's tale,"_ Ansen responded silently as he gave the rope a tug, _"The sun would come out and maidens would show up to braid daisies in your hair."_

 _::Not true. It's the middle of the night.::_ Kandrel stepped back and let Ansen haul the man to his knees. The man didn't move while Ansen examined the prisoner's opponent. The man had a bad gut wound and Ansen doubted he'd survive. He did what he could to the wounded man and then urged the prisoner to his feet, prodding the man to where the growing knot of prisoners was gathered.

Tie the hands. Treat the wounded. Gather the prisoners.

Lather. Rinse. Repeat.

"Herald Ansen?" The young man had the voice and carriage of good breeding, for all he was more mud brown than Guard blue, the cultured tones rough with exhaustion.

"Lieutenant Beshire. What do you need?" The last of the prisoners was being marched away and others were clearing the wounded from their small battlefield. The exhausted Ansen rose from where he'd helped move one of the injured onto a stretcher and rested his back against Kandrel's shoulder, letting the Companion take some of his weight.

"Reporting in sir. I wasn't sure if you were aware, but Captain Ivorson was badly injured. I'm the one in command now, sir."

Ansen straightened up. "I wasn't. How bad?"

Beshire dragged a hand through his short-cropped hair, heedless of the blood and mire it added to the mess. "Bad enough, sir. The Healer thinks she'll live, but he doubts he can save her eye. The ear is gone."

"I see. Thank you for telling me. What else to I need to know?"

"All my men are accounted for sir. We lost three dead and another ten injured. We've collected twenty-two prisoners so far and we're sweeping the woods now. We think several have slipped away. Should we pursue?"

"What's your thoughts?"

Beshire shook his head firmly. "It's pitch dark and soaking. It'd be like trying to find a black pebble in the bottom of a well when that pebble is actively trying to hide. I don't have enough men to do it right and doing it half way is unlikely to do anything except get people hurt. Sir, my men are exhausted."

Ansen gave a half smile. "Tell me, Lieutenant, was this your idea or your senior sergeant's?"

Beshire didn't blink. "Mine, but I asked her for her input. She agrees."

"And I agree with you both. Let them run, Lieutenant. I calculate there's not more than a dozen out there. Not enough to be a threat and probably more interested in protecting their own skins from the rain and each other to think about bothering us. We'll know who they are soon enough and we can work at bringing them to justice later. In a couple of sennights, every Guard and Herald in this sector will be on the lookout for them."

Beshire looked relieved. "Thank you, sir. Sir, you should know that we are using the empty part of your Waystation for the infirmary. It's the only shelter we have at the moment. We're still sorting out what stores are left from the earlier attack. Your guests are in the living quarters."

"Thank you, Lieutenant. I won't keep you any longer. I'd best check in on them. You know where to find me if you need me."

 _"We need to find you someplace warm and dry to get some rest."_ Ansen leaned against Kandrel as they walked.

 _::There's enough room on the infirmary side if I tuck in to the corner. Healer Breslin won't object. I'd stay with you but there's already a lot of people in that room.::_

 _"You just don't want to be that close to Aztenzia Lisle."_

 _::I admit that I do have an urge to kick her, yes.::_

"That makes two of us," Ansen muttered.

If the wounded and those attending them minded Kandrel's presence in the back of the room, they had enough sense to remain silent, especially when their Healer seemed unconcerned. Ansen hauled off Kandrel's gear, piling it as neatly as possible under the circumstances. If the grooming was sketchy, Kandrel was more than forgiving, urging Ansen to get some rest.

 _::You can't groom me when you're leaning on the spot you're trying to clean. Go. I'm fine. You have work to do.::_

Ansen wanted to sigh, but yawned instead. In the warmth of the Waystation, his fatigue was rapidly catching up with him. That and the clothes he'd been wearing in the rain and mud for more than a day were starting to make his skin crawl.

The Herald straightened up and pushed open the door into the next room. A night candle was the only illumination and he could see dim lumps where his guests rested, waiting for his return.

"Honored guests, I can report that we have prevailed, although the cost was high. We know of fifteen dead, three of those our own defenders. An additional twenty-two have surrendered, many of those injured to a greater or lesser degree." His eyes having grown accustomed to the dimness, Ansen met each of their gazes. "I am especially glad," his gaze fell on one face in particular, "that you are looking so well, Lord Polleck, for a dead man."

Ross Polleck rose, and, to Ansen's surprise, offered the Herald a full formal court bow.

"Herald Ansen, I admit I disliked your plan when I heard it. How one of the Guard would play my part and how three of his fellows would play the part of the foes, slaying me and calling for the break in the plotters' agreement. What would have happened if the blade had been live instead of a mere hilt and the hand wielding it belonged to a real enemy? He could have been killed simply because he wore my armour."

"Lord Polleck, he could have been killed regardless of what armour he wore. He knew there was a risk, but he all those around him – protectors and seeming-foe alike – were there to defend him. Had you been able to witness the conflict, you would have seen that he, surrounded as he was by seven staunch defenders, was one of the safest out there."

"But…Herald Ansen, what was to stop someone from running a sword through the 'fallen Lord' believing it was my husband? Out of spite or for surety, perhaps." Vissa Polleck was troubled.

Ansen nodded to acknowledge her concern. "My Lady, that was one reason the bladder of blood was so large. We wanted our double to look very, very dead. Fortunately, horse blood looks quite the same as human blood. More importantly, both our false Lord Polleck and his foes had their Guard surcoats with them. It was easy for them to cover their armour and seem one of the crowd. I assure you, they are all well."

"Still, we would like to reward them for their bravery." The Pollecks glanced at each other.

"I'm afraid that such rewards are not encouraged, generous though your offer is. However, if you feel the need to express your gratitude, there is a fund which provides aid for those injured in the course of their duties or to the families of those who do not survive."

"It would be my honor," Polleck said hoarsely, "To provide an amount equal to the death-benefit for all those who died defending us and contribute towards a pension for the injured."

"House Vernenen will stand with House Polleck in this."

"As will House Lisle."

At long last, Ansen had gotten them to agree on something. He didn't feel victorious. He simply felt tired.


	8. Chapter 8

His eyes were gritty and he had to blink several times before he could open them fully. Four candlemarks was not nearly enough rest after the exertions of the past day, but it would have to do. As Ansen tried to get his eyes to focus, his body began its own litany of complaints. The Herald was quite certain that he had some truly spectacular bruises where blows had struck his armour. Alberich would have been pleased – none had drawn blood or hit anything vital.

Slowly stretching his knotted muscles, Ansen sent out a thought. Good. Kandrel was still asleep, but from the tenor of his partner's mind, Ansen knew he would waken soon. With a grimace of distaste, Ansen drew on his dirty clothes from the day before. They would suffice while he cleaned the last of the mud and grime from Kandrel.

 _::Don't bother.::_ _Kandrel's_ mind voice was drowsy. _::I let the grooms finish cleaning me up last night.::_

Ansen's surprise rolled through their link. _"You hate letting strangers groom you."_

 _::Exceptional circumstances. You needed the rest and I have a feeling your time is going to be in high demand today.::_ Kandrel's tone became dry. _::Just because Heralds_ can _be self-sufficient doesn't mean they always_ should _be.::_

Ansen smiled in the pre-dawn gloom. "Touche, my friend. If you have no objection then, I'll find some hot water and at least try to scrape off some of this muck."

 _::They have hot water over on this side. While you're here, you can open the door so I can go outside for some necessary functions.::_

Ansen scooped up a clean (!) change of Whites and padded past the other sleepers. Judging from the snores and regular breathing, none of his nobles were awake yet. _"I thought the door had a latch?"_

 _::Oh, it does.::_ Kandrel sighed. _::But I didn't want to cause a scene by 'escaping'. Not with all the wounded in here.::_

 _"Good point."_ Ansen set down his clothes and leaned into Kandrel's neck, setting aside for a few moments his burdens and immersing himself in the pool of calm and strength that was Kandrel.

 _::Heart-brother,::_ Kandrel's voice was loving and profoundly apologetic, _::I'm afraid my need for the door is becoming rather urgent.::_

"Sorry!" Ansen moved away and fumbled for the door.

 _::Don't be. I am always here for you.::_ There could never be any doubt in those words.

While Kandrel slipped outside to attend to things, Ansen checked to make sure everything Kandrel needed was as it should be. He was pleased to see there was ample feed and that the water bucket was both full and still cool from the well. It was with a deep thrum of gratitude that he realized someone had taken the time to clean and hang Kandrel's gear. He made a note to find out who and thank them.

Moving carefully around the pallets – more often just a blanket on the floor – of the wounded, Ansen eased over to the low voices around the hearth.

"Good morning Herald." Ansen was pleased to recognize Corporal Dren, his diligent clerk. "The Lieutenant set shifts to watch over the wounded and your Companion. What can I get you?"

"If you have any hot water to spare, I would be grateful. Any water, actually." Ansen's eyes had grown accustomed to the dim light and he could see others moving through the improvised infirmary, tending the wounded.

She followed his gaze and answered the unasked question. "Lady Polleck directed her servants to assist us and the others did the same. I hope you don't mind," she sounded uncertain, "but the grooms tended your Companion."

"Kandrel didn't mind, and if he doesn't, I'm certainly not going to." Ansen said it casually, pretending not to see the flash of confusion on her face, although his smile was warm. "Later on, I'll ask you to point them out so that I can thank them properly."

"Ah. Yes. I will. As to water…I can do that and maybe a bit better. The Healer needed a place to wash up and so on. Will that do?" She indicated a spot near the stove, soap, towel and ewer. He recognized the table – until the day before, it had been the clerk's own desk.

"Admirably, thank you Corporal." Ansen gratefully noted the abundance of full buckets around the stove and equally full pots atop it. Cleaning up, even if only his face and torso and in a basin, was bliss. One of the sole benefits of his mixed-Tedrel heritage, he reflected, was that he seldom needed to shave.

Somewhat cleaner and feeling far more presentable, he topped up the containers as best he could and bundled up his dirty clothes.

"Herald Ansen? There's a bit of tea and leftover biscuit here if you'd like." The Guardswomen was apologetic. "The cooks haven't had a chance to get anything ready yet."

Ansen shook his head. "Corporal, we just endured a battle which ended only six or so candlemarks ago. I'm rather surprised to find so much accomplished in so short a time. Tea and a biscuit – even if yesterday's – is more than I expected." He took a generous bite of the slightly dry scone as evidence.

The woman looked relieved. "That's good to hear, sir. The Lieutenant sent most of us to ground, with a few on shift as needed. He left you a message too, sir. After you'd had a chance to wake up a bit." Her tone was wry as she passed over the note.

Ansen nodded in thanks, setting his tea down to take the page. He chewed absently on the pastry as he unsealed the letter and read:

 _Herald Ansen,_

 _A summary of the situation as of the fourth hour:_

 _Guardsmen, all ranks – 29 (21 hale, 4 walking wounded, 4 seriously wounded)_

 _Prisoners: 21 (11 hale, 3 walking wounded, 7 seriously wounded)_

 _Guests: 15 (6 guests, 9 staff)_

 _Not included in the tally are the two messengers dispatched by Captain Ivorson to the stations at Bell's Valley and Lisle. As I have no way of knowing if their messages were delivered, I have instructed that two more riders are to go out at first light. In the best scenario, they will meet relief enroute and return in two or three days. At worst, they will return in no more than four days with assistance._

 _I have, at this point, three major concerns._

 _The first is security. Maintaining control of the situation, along with care of the wounded and the other demands on the small number of men available to me is a cause of concern._

Ansen reflected dryly that the Lieutenant was being extremely diplomatic, all things considered. He was fairly certain the Lieutenant was quietly panicking at the correlation of forces and resources.

 _My second concern is housing. As soon as there is sufficient light, we will undertake an inventory of canvas and other resources. We know that several tents were destroyed during the attack and I think we may be hard pressed to house our own people. This does not take into account the need to house an additional 11 persons. It also presumes the continued use the Waystation as an infirmary for at least the next few days._

 _The final concern is foodstuffs, although this is less pressing. We were expecting a resupply shipment in approximately ten days and we were provisioned with a generous error of margin. I believe we can accommodate the additional draw on our supplies so long as we are prudent. This presumes there was minimal loss during the fighting. Again, the inventory will better determine the matter._

 _There are two questions for your consideration._

 _First, I believe it prudent to send the prisoners and our own wounded out to the Lisle station as soon as feasible. While this will mean losing some hands in the short term, it will take care of the security concerns and address some of the issues around housing and rations._

 _Second, what are your instructions with respect to your own mission? Do you anticipate taking up your task immediately or do you see it possible to postpone for a day or so until the situation stabilizes?_

Ansen folded up the letter and tucked it inside his pocket. Best not to let the very legitimate issues hatch into a rumor-driven crisis.

"Thank you, Corporal Dren. I presume the Lieutenant is sleeping?"

"Yes sir. Shall I waken him? He left orders that he's to be wakened at the seventh hour – a little over a candlemark from now. Sooner if you instruct."

"Let him sleep. And let's return the courtesy of letting him clean up and get something in his belly before we start work, shall we? My charges are still asleep and I can certainly make good use of this time."

# # #

Daylight painted a gloomy picture. Where there had once been an immaculately groomed clearing and neat structures, the Waystation now squatted like a queen in a pigpen, the clean white building in a churned up mire of ash, fresh diggings and rutted ground.

Along the edge of the treeline, a burial party was marking out yet another grave, friend and foe indistinguishable among the sodden dead. In a makeshift lean-to of brush and canvas, the prisoners huddled together, shivering in the morning chill. The single note of cheer in was the smoke rising from the cook-tent and the mouth-watering smells it carried with it. Ansen wasn't sure what they were cooking, but he could have sworn he smelled apples.

 _::Oatmeal with lots of sugar. Crepes wrapped around cooked apple slices. Ham and potatoes.::_ Kandrel not only had a superior sense of smell, he was also grazing a few yards from the rear of the cook tent and could hear everything. Ansen ignored the rumbling in his stomach.

"Good morning Lieutenant. You look as tired as I feel." It was sympathetic.

The young man shrugged ruefully. "They warned us in training there'd be times like this. I wasn't in a rush to get here though." A gulp of hot kava and the man gave a deep sigh of satisfaction. "I needed that." He gestured and the two men began walking, their path a circuit of the encampment.

"So, Herald, I can update my report from last night." He glanced over, his expression a question. At Ansen's nod, the soldier continued. "We can get all our people and your guests under canvas, but only barely and that only if we still have the use of the Waystation."

"You do, of course. The wounded are a priority," Ansen affirmed.

A head tilt of acknowledgement, then, "We are worse off for food than I thought. The flour, sugar, salt and cheese had all been offloaded into a storage tent. That tent is gone – lost to the storm, most likely. Everything in it was soaked and most of it ruined. There was a little bit of flour and sugar in the cook tent and we ate it for breakfast. I'm afraid there won't be any more until we get resupplied."

Ansen simply nodded soberly. "It seems to make the most sense then, to go ahead with your plan to send the prisoners and wounded on to Lisle. It will give us some breathing room for both food and housing. While we're waiting for assistance, we'll do what we can to get things back in order here." He looked at the Lieutenant. "I believe we are close to an accord, and while no peace is worth the lives this has cost, I am hopeful we can bring some stability to this region at last. It would be a waste to give up now – but that doesn't mean not acknowledging we have some other challenges to take care of first. Let's get our house in order and then see about getting these other Houses in order, shall we?"

# # #

Shortly before noon, Ansen and the Lieutenant watched two of their three wagons disappear over the distant rise. Their remaining stores had been offloaded as the wagons were emptied to make room for the prisoners and wounded. Most of the prisoners would be on foot, with three days rations and such gear as was needed for the journey sharing space in the wagons with the wounded. The Healer, along with ten of the remaining Guard, accompanied them.

"I admit it's a relief," Beshire observed to the Herald. "With our fellows mounted and them afoot, I think they'll be alright."

"If any of them slip away, we'll find them. We know who they are." Ansen's tone was iron. He gave a small sigh and shook off his mood. "How are things progressing otherwise?"

"We'll have all our supplies under canvas by nightfall, even if it's just draped over and staked down. In the next day or so we'll see about shifting it so it's at least not sitting on this soggy ground too long. We should have accommodations for your guests ready by late tomorrow. I'm sorry it will take so long, but…"

"But nothing. You and your men have done excellent work under extremely trying conditions. And now there's less than a dozen of you left? You've no need to apologize. And never fear, I'll handle any concerns raised by the Families. They're my problem, not yours."

"Thank you, sir," Beshire looked relieved. "I didn't want to ask."

# # #

Ansen spent the next candlemarks with his guests. If they were unhappy at learning they'd have to spend another night in the Waystation, they at least had enough tact to keep it to themselves. Their relief at learning that they would no longer have to all sleep in the one small room was genuine and Ansen willingly spent most of the afternoon negotiating arrangements and ensuring that everyone's goods were appropriately allocated. It was a relief to be able to finally leave them to their own devices for a time.

"Do you need anything?" Ansen sent the question to Kandrel while surveying the disorder in his own sleeping area. A tidy person by nature, Ansen was discomfited by mess and set to quickly setting things right again. Someone, in all the chaos, had laundered his Whites for him and even if the result wasn't perfect, it was a distinct improvement.

 _::I'm fine, thank you. The rain has blown off for a bit and I've found a warm spot behind the cook tent. I'm considering a nap.::_ Kandrel's voice was only partly joking as he added, _::You should consider one too. You're running on smoke.::_

"I'll try. As soon as I'm done here." Ansen could feel the Companion's snort at his response. They both knew there would be no napping for the Herald.

He had finished his own gear and moved on to the detritus in the rest of the Waystation when he Felt Kandrel.

 _::Chosen! There's a Herald coming.::_

Ansen stopped, startled. "That shouldn't be. We only just sent out the second set of messengers this morning. And we asked for the Guard, not a Herald. Circuit Herald checking in?" He hurried outside to where Kandrel was trotting up.

 _::I don't think it's the Circuit Herald. Whoever it is, they're in a terrible hurry.::_ Kandrel paused, and Ansen could feel the Companion reaching out, listening.

 _::It's Lancri, with Cellen.::_ Kandrel's ears flickered, a sign Ansen recognized as concern. Ansen pulled himself up as Kandrel moved to intercept the arriving pair.

Around them, work slowed as the Guardsmen took note of the Herald's movement and posture.

 _::Chosen!::_ Kandrel's shock reverberated down their link as Lancri erupted from the treeline. Ansen had been present during the war with Ancar when Rolan had arrived from Hardorn with his grim message, had seen the utter depth of exhaustion in a Companion. This wasn't the same, but it was appallingly close.

Lancri dropped his head, sides heaving as his legs shook and sweat soaked his hide. Cellen unclenched his hands slowly, his muscles frozen from the strain of their journey. He too was gasping as though he could force air into Lancri's lungs.

"Cellen? What happened?"

"Not…happened yet." Cellen took a deep breath and coughed, slowing his breathing so he could speak. "But soon. Rain and storms. The dam at Covey is failing. Water had already started to cut the top of the dam when I left. Bell's Valley is evacuating and I've warned all the homesteads on the valley floor. You're the last."

"Herald! What about Lisle?" Whillard Lisle made to grab Cellen's stirrup, the gesture blocked by Kandrel's nose.

A headshake, "Bakerston and Lisle were warned by another Herald. Not me. On higher ground. Only the low-lying areas of the town at risk. Guard is there. Should be. All. Safe. I did Covey and Bell's Valley." Another gulp of air.

"We just sent our wounded there!" Beshire was horrified.

Ansen thought frantically, reviewing maps and boundaries in his mind. "They should be alright. They have climb the rise before they drop down into the town. They should see the danger in plenty of time. They may have to take a longer road to stay on the high ground, but they should be alright."

Lancri was breathing easier now, but his fatigue was evident.

"Cellen, how much time to we have?"

Cellen shook his head. "Not much. A candlemark, not much more."

Ansen thought about the road to Lisle, and the gradual climb out of the valley. It wasn't enough time.

"Cellen, your Gift is Farsight, yes?"

His brother nodded.

"Can you See far enough upstream to give us some warning?"

"I can. I can help you prepare too."

 _::They should rest.::_ Kandrel echoed Ansen's own thoughts.

"You keep watch on the river. Every second counts. Kandrel will help Lancri. When the time comes go leave, you two will lead. We're going to need your help to climb out of here."

Cellen didn't argue, which told Ansen all he needed to know.

"Herald?" the Lieutenant looked uncertain.

"There are several small tracks and trails leading into the hills. They're steep, but they'll help us climb quickly. At the moment, getting out of the flood's path is more important than figuring out where we'll end up."

# # #

Chaos.

Guardsmen, having just reset up their encampment, at least had their gear mostly still packed, not having had a chance to settle in to the rearranged quarters.

Delia Vernenen threw a fit when she learned they would not be bringing the coaches and another when she learned there was no side-saddle available. Ansen didn't argue. He'd throw her over Kandrel's withers if it came to that. In the mean time, there was more to do.

Ansen allowed himself a ten-span to pack. Anything not packed in that time would be left behind without a backwards glance.

"Herald? We're to fetch your things?" The Guardsman was practically dancing from foot to foot.

"That first, then that, and then this only if there is time." Ansen pointed to each item as he spoke.

"Sir?" The Guardsman took a look at the Herald's expression and stopped. "Yes sir."

How long had it been?

How much time did they have left?

Ansen wanted to glance over at Cellen but couldn't spare the time.

 _::There's no point in bringing the armour. It will just weigh me down. Make sure you rig safety straps for pillion. I may end up carrying double.::_

Ansen didn't argue, taking just enough time to check everything once, trusting Kandrel to point out anything he'd missed.

 _::I'm ready. Go. Ross Polleck needs you. I'm going to check on Lanrci.::_

Ross Polleck was deep in an argument with a harried-looking Sergeant. "Sir, these are the mounts I was told to give you."

Ansen quickly realized the problem. The Guard had arrived mounted. His guests had arrived by coach. There were horses enough for all, but not enough tack. There had been no reason to bring saddles for the draft horses and no saddles present that would fit.

Ansen pointed. "Make those the pack horses. I know we don't have the frames – rig something up from the harness. How many mounts are you short?"

"Three, sir," the Guardsman's face was pinched and he couldn't seem to tear his gaze away from the river.

"Put your best two riders up on the pack animals for now. We can switch off later. I'll take the third."

Forty-one spans had ticked by. Gear was scattered on the ground as the Guard frantically tried to get it loaded.

Delia Vernenen was one on of the Guards' mounts and offering whining complaint to all in earshot.

Lancri and Kandrel bugled simultaneously.

"It's coming!" Cellen and Lancri pivoted and headed for the track. Gear forgotten, the few still afoot swung into saddles and followed. Kandrel and Ansen came last, Ansen watching the riverbed while Kandrel surged up the narrow path.

Ansen hadn't expected the sound. It was more than a rush. It was a guttural roar with a counterpoint of crashing stone and snapping wood. A brown and white beast, devouring the channel and scouring the valley. As the crest surged past, he got a final glimpse of the Waystation, slate roof collapsing as the interior was torn asunder.

Shivering, he turned back to the path as they continued to climb


	9. Chapter 9

They climbed.

The finger of ridge that Cellen had chosen was wide enough to be reassuring, but steep enough to have the horses slowing in protest. They weren't following a discernible track – presumably Cellen's Farsight had shown something that wouldn't lead them to a dead end.

 _"I hope Cellen knows where he's taking us."_

 _::Or maybe you could trust your Brother Herald.::_ Kandrel's mild rebuke had a decided emphasis on both the words 'brother' and 'Herald.'

Kandrel could feel his Herald's grumbling acquiescence through their bond.

 _"Is Lancri managing?"_

 _::Tend to your own knitting.::_ This time Kandrel's annoyance was much more palpable. _::Lancri – and his Chosen – will do what is necessary.::_ After several silent paces, Kandrel ventured another question, his tone gentler this time. _::Chosen…this is unlike you. You do have a rather broad streak of worry-wart in you, but from where I stand, that's not such a bad thing. Your habit of planning for any contingency has served you very well over the years. Yet I've never known you to doubt like I can feel you doubting now.::_

Ansen paused, his attention on the draft-horse ahead, who was making her dislike of the slope known. When she was settled and moving again, the Herald responded.

 _"I'm not sure, to be honest. Much as I hate to admit it, Cellen and I don't know each other well. He was only four or five when you Chose me. I missed most of his childhood and all of his adulthood. Even now, we rarely cross paths. I…can't say I know the_ man _."_

 _::He's your Brother Herald – and your brother. Is that not enough?::_

 _"It should be, shouldn't it? So what am I worried about?"_

 _::When you figure it out, you'll be half-way to solving it.::_ And Kandrel would say no more.

 _"Ansen?"_ Although he'd never heard that particular Mindvoice before, there was no mistaking it's source. _"Can you Hear me?"_ Cellen had turned back in Lancri's saddle, his face a question.

 _"I can. You'll have to do all the work I'm afraid. My Mindspeech is not terribly strong."_

Cellen's response was warm. _"I think we'll manage just fine. I just wanted to let you know that there's a small plateau coming up. It's not big enough to overnight, but it will let us take a rest and figure out what we want to do next."_

 _"Good plan. We left in such a rush that I'd like a chance to make sure everything is properly secured. I've a feeling it's not."_ He paused, before adding, _"Any ideas of where to head?"_

Ansen could see Cellen's headshake as the Herald answered. _"There's three or four game tracks crossing the spot we're coming to and I can follow them quite a distance. A couple lead to places we could stay overnight but as to which ones lead through these hills and back down…that's outside my range. I'm hoping you or one of the locals knows the area."_

Ansen closed his eyes and tried to picture the area on the map. _"I do have a map with me, but it might not have the detail we need. Hopefully Lord Lisle knows the area well enough."_

Their conversation paused as the mare balked again, dancing and backing as her feet slipped in the wet soil.

 _"I don't suppose you have Animal Mindspeech as one of your Gifts?"_ Ansen's question was rueful.

 _"Sorry, wrong Danner."_ Cellen's laughter echoed down the link between them.

# # #

The plateau was, as advertised, small but sufficient for a rest stop. Almost as soon as he dismounted, Ansen saw the three Lords bearing down on him, clearly determined to have their say. It was with fleeting amusement as he saw them pause, glance at Cellen and back to himself, unsure of which Herald to approach. As one, they continued on. Clearly, he was _their_ Herald, at least for the time being.

"Herald Ansen? If there's time, I'd like to shift some of these loads around. Even things out and such." Lieutenant Beshire beat the Lords to Ansen by mere moments and only Ansen's glare kept any of the trio from overriding the 'mere soldier'.

"Lieutenant, take what ever time you require. Making sure we hold on to what little we have is a priority." Ansen turned back to the restive men. "Lord Lisle, we need to call on your knowledge of your lands." He carried on, blithely speaking over anything they would have said.

Ansen unfolded the battered map. "Unfortunately, this is not as detailed as I would like. Lord Lisle? We need to get out of these mountains and get each of you back to your lands. This flood has done untold damage and your respective lands need you. Equally importantly, they need reassurance that each of you lives and a strong leader yet remains to steer your people through this crisis."

The three blinked in surprise as Ansen gave voice to the remonstrations they had intended to unleash. Wulfric Vernenen found his voice first.

"Indeed, Herald. You've got it rightly. We must get down and back to our land!" The stolid man was almost wringing his hands in distress.

"Lord Lisle?" Ansen proffered the map. "Judging from this, we can cross _here_ and be down above Covey in a three or four days."

Lisle grimaced. "Only if you can fly, Herald." He traced a line across Ansen's suggested route. "Yon's a sheer canyon. We've looked at bridging it, but it's too wide. Cost too much for the little return we'd get." Whillard chewed on his lower lip as he contemplated the map. Glancing up at the Herald, he asked quietly "How far do you think the water will go? How long before it drops again?"

Cellen's voice came from behind them and the Lords turned, startled. "The hope was to rebuild the dam, but that depends on how bad the breach is and the resulting damage. If they have to cut a new temporary channel before they build, the project could take a year." Before they could protest, Cellen continued. "As to when the high water will abate…that depends to some extent on the weather. The worst peak should subside in a few days, but the inundation could take a couple of moons to drain completely. Even then, some stagnant ponds will remain. My Lords, it will be years before Bell's Valley returns to anything close to what it was."

"And even then," Ansen added gently, with a nod of agreement, "it will not be the same. Fields, roads, bridges – the landscape will have changed."

"All the more reason…"Ross Polleck was stricken.

"Agreed, Lord Polleck. All the more reason to get you home."

Whillard Lisle returned his attention to the map, tracing, pondering, considering. When he looked up at his fellow Lords and the Heralds, his voice was troubled. "When I was a young man, my father required that I make a tour of every steading, mine and boundary of our lands. It was important, he said, that I know the land and the challenges faced by those beholden to us. I repeated the boundary tour every five years after that. For the past ten years though, it has been my son and heir who has made the journey."

Lord Lisle indicated some small icons on the map. "This marks the edge of our holdings. There is a small vale there. No-one lives there – it's too isolated and too small to support a homestead. From time to time though, shepherds will summer there. It's good grazing and has a reliable spring. Last time I was there, I recall a shepherds' hut or two but not much more. There are also a few attempts at mines, but they're all very shallow.

"Once we get beyond that vale, I can't say. Much of the Comb is, as you all know, uninhabited and inhospitable. I've never been more than a half-day's ride past this boundary. It is, quite literally, trackless wilderness."

"Understood, Lord Lisle," Ansen acknowledged, "But to my thinking, the fact that your people got flocks up there means that we can get out of there."

Lord Lisle wasn't happy. "To a point, yes. But those that bring their flocks here – they go down first, around this spur of ridge, before they climb up to the vale. And that lower portion of the trail is now under water."

Ross Polleck groaned in frustration, but sent an apologetic headshake to Lisle as he did so. "I didn't mean…."

"No offense taken," Lisle grumbled stiffly. "We're all eager to return to our homes and I haven't been the bearer of good news."

"Lord Lisle," Cellen interjected, "Is there any route from here which does _not_ depend on the river?"

"It's likely, yes. If you're asking me if I know it, then the answer is no. The Comb is a harsh mountain range, Heralds. It's granite and sparse pine, scrub grass and rocky outcrops. Not your rounded, easily managed mountains in the north." There was rough pride in his voice as he described his home.

"Our lands are bounded by the river and run up into the hills from there. Once settlement ends, so ends our lands. No one drew a line on a map and said 'This much is yours'. We took our lands from the wilderness, and where ours ends, the wilderness begins."

"Lisle is right," Wulfric admitted. "It's the same for all of us. Who has the money and resources to manage miles and miles of empty crags? I don't doubt there's a way out, just as I don't doubt it will take us some time to find it."

"Cellen," Ansen began, before Wulfric interrupted him.

"Begging your pardon, Heralds, but in all the confusion down below before we fled, I don't think I ever got properly introduced to our new Herald here." He gave Cellen an apologetic look.

Cellen's smile, even formal as it was, hinted at the Herald's intrinsic humour and good nature. "Herald Cellen Danner and Lancri, my Lords. We are Herald Couriers for the most part, conveying such messages as the Queen needs sent. A few days ago, a Herald returning from Circuit received a Foresight warning about the dam. Lancri and I, along with another Herald pair, were sent to warn as many as we could."

"You came from Haven in a few days?" Ross Polleck tried to politely hide his disbelief.

"We did. The speed and stamina of Companions is legendary for good reason my lords." It was grave.

The three looked dubious, but said nothing. Whillard Lisle changed the subject. "You said Cellen _Danner_?" he glanced at the two Heralds, between the lithe diplomat with his deep brown skin, black almond eyes and straight black hair and the courier – solid and fair with his wavy brown-blonde hair and green eyes. "Cousins?"

Cellen's eyes twinkled but he kept his expression polite. "Brothers, actually." He leaned forward and added, in a conspiratorial tone, "But one of us is adopted and the other hasn't figured it out yet."

A pause and the three flushed and stammered, unsure of whether or not it was a jest.

"Cellen," Ansen was reproving. "Unkind. My lords…"

"I apologize, my Lords. I am weary, but that is no excuse. Ansen and our sisters are indeed members of our family by heart-choice and I have been blessed to have them." Cellen smiled warmly at his elder brother.

"As Valdemar is lucky to have two sons from one family serve as her Heralds." Ross Polleck's firm declaration closed any further discussion on the matter.

"Which leaves where we began – where to, Lord Lisle?" Ansen tipped his head at the map.

"From here, we could reach the vale by midday tomorrow. The last bit will be steep, but we should be able to manage it."

"In the mean time," Polleck spoke up, "we've only two or three candlemarks until darkness and we have to find a place to spend the night."

Lord Lisle smiled for what seemed like the first time in days. "If memory serves, not far from here there's another widening, much bigger than this which will serve. There's no spring, but with all the rain lately, the rocks will have rivulets enough." He hesitated. "Not much for shelter though – maybe an overhang."

"As we'll not be drowning nor under attack, I'll be more than willing to sleep rough." The look of shock on Lisle's face as Wulfric Vernenen clapped him heartily on the back to accompany the statement would have been comical had they not been so tired.

# # #

 _::This vale is pretty. I'm not surprised it stuck in Lord Lisle's memory.::_ Sheer cliffs enfolded a small pocket valley, broad and flat, thick with lush grass and dotted with splashes of wildflower accents.

"I see what you mean. And I also understand why no one lives here permanently. Just enough to summer a flock, but not enough to provide forage for winter. Not to mention it's not especially accessible."

'Not accessible' had been an understatement. Since they weren't using the usual trail to the pasture, they'd had to find their own and the last portion had required more than one horse having to be helped up by means of a strap around their rump while Kandrel or Lanrci pulled from the top.

 _::Good grazing, this. And with only two entrances, easy for a lone shepherd to manage.::_

"Good grazing, yes. Which is fine for you, Lancri and the horses. But the other 28 of us can't eat grass. We've a sennight's worth of food at full rations. At that point, unless we can forage – or find our way out, we're going to be very hungry indeed."


	10. Chapter 10

The Lords were shouting again. More fairly, they were trying – with rapidly eroding restraint - to make their concerns known in a more or less civilized manner. The only part of any of it which had come as a surprise to Ansen was that it had only taken two days.

The vale, lovely and secure as it was from risk of attack by man and water, was far from comfortable. The first day after their arrival had given everyone a chance to find some kind of shelter, enjoy some desperately needed sleep, and fully take stock of their situation. All of the noble ladies had been unhappy at the meager housing options: shepherd's stone hut, lean-to, or shallow cave. Even Vissa Polleck, by far the most sensible of the bunch, was looking pinched and quarrelsome as she tried to sweep the detritus from the ramshackle hut she would be sleeping in. Ansen had had to intervene in Delia Vernenen's incessant demands upon the Guard for more blankets, a lamp, a fur throw and a host of other items which did not exist in the vale. Aztenzia Lisle, at least, confined herself to badgering her own servants, perching herself upon an up thrust piece of quartz as though she were Selenay herself. If she had lifted a finger to help, no one had seen it.

The Lords were another story. They were quite busy and had made Ansen their own particular project.

"Herald Ansen, why haven't you done anything yet about getting us back to our homes?"

"Herald Ansen, what are you going to do about more supplies?"

"Herald Ansen, what have you done about getting better food?"

"Herald Ansen, you should have made sure we had…

Candles…

Tents…

Bedding…

milady's footwear…

before we left."

"Herald Ansen…" A certain Herald was beginning to get very tired of any sentence which began with those two words.

"My Lords." Ansen put enough iron into it to get their attention. "We," and his gesture took in the Lords, the Lieutenant and his fellow Herald, "we need to make some decisions in order to get everyone (there was a slight emphasis on that last word) home as rapidly and safely as we can.

"As you are all too aware, we were able to salvage very little before the flood overtook us. We have five small tents and some squares of canvas as our only shelter. Most of us have one change of clothing at best and one or two have inadequate footwear. By virtue of the fact that the rain – until this morning – had been nearly constant, everyone has good quality rain gear. As we climb into the mountains, this will no doubt be fortunate indeed."

Ansen paused to ensure he still had their attention. "So far, this is not news to you. You also know that we have an ample supply of flints and cookware for our needs. What we do not have an ample supply of is food. Kandrel and Lancri," he gave the Companions a half nod, "found the remains of a summer garden near one of the huts. Nothing has been planted there for several years, but the onion and garlic seems to have thrived. I'm sure it will make a welcome addition to our beans, rice and dried beef. With careful portioning at half rations, we have enough for ten to twelve days. We…"

"What about game?" Ross Polleck broke in. "Or foraging? Surely we can add to that."

A nod. "We can – up to a point. But remember that we will be trying to move as quickly as we may, and the foraging you propose will inevitably delay us. Everything we do from this point out will be a decision between speed and our ability to sustain the journey."

"But Herald Ansen," Wulfric frowned, "we still don't know where we're going."

"That, Lord Vernenen, is my task." Cellen took up the thread smoothly. "Lancri can move much more quickly than your group can manage. One of my Gifts is Farsight, my Lords. With it, I can See far enough ahead to know if a track is likely to be passable or not."

"Well, why don't you just See our path home then? Why are we waiting around here?", Lisle was huffy with annoyance.

"My Lord," Cellen said patiently, "If you had a spyglass, would you be able to see your steading from here?"

"Of course not. What a ridiculous notion. There's mountains in the way for one, and it's too far. You mock me, Herald," Lisle snapped.

"Not mocking, Lord Lisle. Merely using an example. While my Gift does, to a certain extent, allow me to ignore the mountains that would block your spyglass, my Gift, like your spyglass, it is limited by distance. So while it will help a great deal, I cannot do what you ask."

Lisle said nothing, but the anger was fading from his face.

"Cellen and Lancri will find and mark a trail for us to follow. With the speed and stamina of a Companion and Cellen's Gift, they can check out any number of likely routes while we are plodding along in their footsteps."

It was Ross Polleck's turn to interrupt. "What you're describing sounds impossible."

The Herald's shook their heads in unison, but it was Cellen who answered. "Not impossible, my Lord, but it will certainly test both of us. Lancri and I will find you a way home."

Wulfric nodded in understanding, but he still bore the worry that had plagued him since Cellen had brought word of the flood. "Thank you Herald Cellen, truly. I just wish we were there already. That our people knew we were safe and on our way to help them."

Ansen looked thoughtful. "As to that, my Lord, it is possible that they may have some hope for that yet."

Cellen nodded in agreement. "Ansen is right, my Lords. Couriers were sent out with warning before the dam gave way. The Guard was mobilizing to help even as I took my message on to the next village and town. I'm sure that aid has already arrived to help your people. As for yourselves, if there is a Herald present, then they know that Ansen and myself at least have survived."

Ansen stepped in to the startled silence. "It is part of being a Herald, my Lords. Each of us knows when another Herald is lost. I assure you, the Heralds know that Cellen and I still live. And they know that we would have done everything in our power to save those in our care. So while they don't know for certain who may have survived, they have reason to hope."

They didn't understand, but they were willing to hope.

# # #

"Are you sure you don't want to take more food?" Ansen handed Cellen the pack to sling over Lancri's rump.

"I'm sure. You're going to need it more, and with my Gift, I can usually manage to find some kind of game. I'll spend much less time foraging than you will."

"Good point." Ansen helped buckle the pack in place.

"Lancri says to tell you thank you for the grain." Cellen checked the buckles Ansen had just fastened. Ansen gave a faint smile. He'd have done the same if were other hands seeing to Kandrel.

"It wasn't mine to give. Kandrel pointed out that we'll be travelling much more slowly and you'll have already found grazing for us. Lancri's going to need it, not us."

"Well, thank you both anyway. We appreciate it." Cellen swung lightly into Lancri's saddle. A hand reached down. "Good luck, brother. I don't envy you your charges."

Ansen's smile was wry, but he nodded acknowledgement of the challenge to come. "You two be careful. Lancri, take care of my brother, alright?"

 _::Always.::_ The mindvoice was unfamiliar, a rich tenor that felt both like and unlike Cellen's. Ansen raised his eyebrows in surprise and placed a hand over his heart in thanks. There was no time to do more as Lancri spun and shot off, accelerating up the valley at a pace no horse could match.

 _::Time to pack, Chosen.::_ Kandrel's mindvoice was understanding. _::They'll find the way.::_

 _"I know they will. I'm just realizing that I wish we'd gotten to spend a bit more time together."_

 _::Did you ever figure out what was troubling you?::_ Kandrel slipped up beside his Herald, his head even with Ansen's own.

 _"I think so. I suspect it has something to do with growing up as a Tedrel child. I realized a long time ago that Vkandis played more than a small part in so many of us surviving and being able to recognize and share in bonds like love and family. The Tedrels themselves certainly didn't have any traits like empathy or compassion. Without Vkandis's hand, I would have had the same ugly heart."_

 _::And yet you don't worship Vkandis.::_ Kandrel pointed out.

A hand waggled in an equivocal gesture. _"Yes and no. I will always honor Vkandis for the light He provided. Whatever the Karsites do or do not do in His name has nothing to do with the truth of Vkandis's Light as I have lived it. But I chose Valdemar. And Valdemar in turn Chose me. I don't worship at a single altar. I…I guess you could say that I choose to worship the Light of Vkandis by what I live. Does that make sense?"_

 _::Very much so. But…what has this to do with Cellen?::_

Ansen smiled. _"Sorry, you brought out my philosophical side. It has quite a bit to do with Cellen, actually. For as long as I can remember, one of the truths I held on to the hardest – all of us children did – was to protect and care for those around you, to find your family and love them._

 _"My strongest memories of my brother are of his childhood. So the strongest feelings that I attach to him…"_

 _::Are the feelings that you should love and protect him. Yes, I can see. But, not to belabour the obvious, he's not a child any more. Neither are you.::_

 _"No, he's not. It just took me a little bit to make my heart catch up with my head – that he's still my brother, still mine to love and protect, but it needs to take a different shape now. I just had to take the time to actually think about it. I suspect that until now, I'd taken it for granted and assumed all my notions matched up with each other."_ A mental chuckle and hug. _"Not to worry. Now they do."_

 _::I'm glad to feel your heart so settled again.::_ Kandrel gave the Herald an affectionate nudge.

 _::And not to nag, but you really do need to pack.::_

# # #

In Ansen's memory, the trip out of the mountains was a series of singular events. The rest of it – narrow tracks wending who knew where, vistas that delighted the eye at the same time they made the heart weary with the distance they represented, small cairns that marked out the way – those blurred together in the sennights their journey took.

#

The day they ate the last of the rice. The last of the beans.

#

The horse and rider they lost crossing a swollen stream. They never found the rider, but they took a half morning and eventually found the horse. They spent a precious day butchering and drying as much of it as they could before resuming their trek.

#

All of them, even Aztenzia Lisle, grubbing up cattail roots and feeling rich.

#

The evening the three families, with Ansen as witness, signed the treaty. They celebrated with a watery horse and garlic soup.

#

Hunger.

#

Breaking over yet another rise and glimpsing in the distance, a road.

# # #

It was ironic, Ansen thought, how far they had come, both in distance and in other ways. Not one of the nobles looked anything like the polished and composed men and women he'd first encountered. All of the ladies had long since donned borrowed trousers from the Guard, their tailored outfits now only a tattered memory. Delia Vernenen wore a pair of Guard boots, incongruous on her dainty form.

The Lords were little better. Although everyone had made an attempt to bathe in the stream that morning, the lack of soap had limited their ability to loosen the grime. Their clothes were equally dingy, although the servants had done their best. Ansen's Whites, especially against Kandrel's vibrant coat, looked almost like Greys.

Where three months ago there had been bitterness and anger, now there was, if not friendship, an honest and ungrudging respect for each other as men and leaders.

They were all, Ansen thought, not who they had been.

As one, they pushed their weary horses into a trot. By Lisle's reckoning, they were less than a candlemark from Chapel Hill.

"This road is always misleading," Lisle repeated for the third time. "It bends and twists as you climb down and there's a bend up ahead so you come on the valley all of a sudden. It's always a pleasant surprise."

No one laughed or pointed out he'd said the same thing a few moments before. All of them were equally eager to finally reach the end of their journey.

"There!" Whillard Lisle shouted and pointed, his voice weak in his tired body.

All of them sat up straight and peered down into the valley.

"It's been some time since I was here," Wulfric said thoughtfully, "but I didn't think it had grown so much. There must be three or four thousand people there, Whillard."

Lisle was shaking his head. "It hasn't grown that much." He looked at the scattered campfires that dotted the valley floor. "Who are all these people?"

It was Kandrel who supplied the answer and Ansen who gave it a voice.

"Refugees."


	11. Chapter 11

_::The Guard is there already, along with three Healers. Lancri and Cellen too, along with another Herald pair.::_ Kandrel pricked his ears forward at the valley below.

"Lord Vernenen, Lord Lisle, Lord Polleck – this is clearly both serious and complex. Your people are down there, and I must ask you frankly if you believe you can sustain your accord in the demands which surely lie before you? You have come to an understanding – your liegemen and miners have not. I am concerned your resolve will be sorely tested in the days ahead."

The three men looked at each other and Wulfric cleared his throat. "Generations of prejudice won't be set aside in a day." His twisted smile was without humor, "Look what it took for the three of us to not be at each other's throats. As for my people…they have suffered enough. I'll not let them add more conflict to the bitter cup they're already drinking."

"You have my word, Herald, that I shall bend my will and steps towards the agreement we have reached." Ross Polleck said gravely.

"Aye, and mine." There was no withholding in Lisle's voice.

"And mine, though you had it already."

Ansen let himself relax a trifle. "Well and good. Clearly the need before us is great and I believe Kandrel and I will be here for some time yet. I am always available if you need help in mediating any issues which arise."

Kandrel shook himself and Ansen heeded the warning. "You don't need my help to find your way to Chapel Hill. Kandrel and I are going on ahead. I'll arrange to have you met and a full report ready when you arrive."

Kandrel didn't launch himself in the usual Companion fashion. Instead, he moved smoothly from a walk to a full gallop in a matter of paces, the Lords agape behind him at finally seeing a Companion at speed for themselves.

# # #

"Ansen!" Cellen didn't try to hide the relief in his voice. "Lancri said you were on your way. There are a good many people who are relieved to know you and your charges are safe at last!"

Cellen shook his head at seeing the change the last sennights of travel had wrought on his brother. "Gods, man. I swear you've dropped a stone or more! When was the last time you ate something?"

Ansen's smile was wan as he carefully swung a leg over Kandrel's rump. Cellen didn't miss the fact that Ansen had to steady himself against the Companion for a moment.

"Five? Six days ago?" Ansen tried to think back. "We found some cress and a couple of the guards caught three small trout."

"You need to see a Healer." Cellen didn't like how his brother was pale and drawn.

A head shake. "Nothing that food won't cure." His smile was faint, but sincere. "Have Lancri ask Kandrel."

Cellen's eyes unfocused for several moments as his head cocked thoughtfully to one side. Finally, his gaze returned to Ansen. "Lancri tells me Kandrel agrees, but that you shouldn't exert yourself for the next few days if you can avoid it."

"Now who's a worrywart?" Ansen muttered to Kandrel, but there was no heat in the words. Kandrel merely snorted.

"More importantly, what is all this, and what do you need from us?" Ansen's wave took in the settlement, a disorderly hodgepodge of rough shelters and humanity.

" _This_ is refugees from all over the region, displaced by the flood. Most are Lord Polleck and Lord Lisle's people, but three days ago we had over three hundred people arrive from the area around Covey. The water blocked the route north to Bakerston, so they had no choice but to make their way here." Cellen's tone was troubled. "It probably won't surprise you that they weren't sure what kind of a welcome they'd get when they showed up here."

There was frustration in Ansen's headshake. "This is Valdemar. People shouldn't be afraid to ask for help from their neighbours!"

A tanned hand gave the Herald's shoulder a gentle squeeze. "You're right, and in normal times they wouldn't. But when you've lost everything except what you have on your back and you're practically a small army, you might wonder if anyone out there is going to be willing to make a place for you. Especially when there's hundreds more out there like you.

"Come on. Let's get you two settled. I'll fill you in while you eat." Cellen pointed with a jerk of his chin. "The local Mine Guild master has given us the use of his home for the time being _::_. He and his wife are staying with family. It's several blocks from here."

Kandrel dipped a foreleg and Ansen stepped into the saddle. "I'm tired, not feeble," he grumbled.

 _::Why exert yourself needlessly when we know your limited energies will be needed elsewhere? Just because you_ can _doesn't mean you_ should. _Nothing wrong with accepting help when its offered._ ::

"My mentor used to tell me that Heralds are independent and sometimes lonely, but never, ever _alone_. You don't have to do it all by yourself."

Ansen glanced from the Companion to his brother, startled to hear the same sentiment echoed.

"You're right. Both you of you. And I have to admit, your offer of food is extremely compelling."

The Guildmaster's house was set in a prosperous section of town and boasted a small kitchen garden and adjoining stables, although no horses were housed there now. Two of the stalls had been prepared for use by Companions, with stall doors tied open. Lancri immediately settled into one, clearly 'his' place. The younger Companion waited just long enough for Cellen to remove his tack before trotting off to sun himself in the small paddock.

Cellen helped Ansen lift the meager packs from Kandrel's back. "Kandrel, would you mind if I gave a hand getting you groomed?"

With Kandrel's assent, they made efficient use of Ansen's flagging strength to thoroughly groom the Companion. Unlike his Herald, Kandrel had not suffered from a lack of food, there having been ample grazing along their route. He did, however, avidly devour the offering of grain.

 _::Pass my thanks on to Cellen if you would. His offer to help you was welcome.::_ Kandrel nudged his Herald, his mindvoice mischievous, _::Your brother has good hands.::_

Ansen shook his head, smiling as he passed on the message. "Kandrel thanks you – as do I. He says to tell you that you have good hands."

Cellen laughed outright. "How could I not with our parents as Healers and Father specializing in the cares of Companions? I don't dare not come up to standard!"

Cellen was still chuckling quietly as they left Kandrel to his rest and the two of them made their way to the main house.

"I sent a message while we were with Kandrel. There's hot water for a bath and some food is on the way." Cellen eyed his brother dubiously. "My Whites will be loose on you, but it's probably the best we can do until we can get yours cleaned."

"I'm not sure mine are salvageable," Ansen admitted. "But we'll see what we can do. Later."

The bathing facilities weren't as efficient as the ones in Haven, but the hot water was plentiful and the tub having a drain meant he didn't have to worry about how to empty it. A moon without soap and with nothing to bathe in except streams meant it took three rinses before he felt reasonably clean again. Much as he would have liked to linger, his hunger had awoken and was an acid reminder of need.

The small bowl of stew, a bare cupful, was ambrosia. Self discipline let him eat slowly, alternating bites of stew with bits of bread. As he ate, he listened.

"…this village was a good size, just under five hundred people. With refugees, it's swelled to over six times that. The Guard has been bringing in the essentials – food and shelter mainly – and everyone has some kind of housing with no one going hungry. Other goods – clothing, tools, worked leather – even pots and pans – are in short supply. We're working on it, but we had to institute price controls. The cost of a plain linen shirt trebled overnight and was five times its original price within a sennight. We've had to set up a group to adjudicate and oversee the cost of goods."

"I'm surprised," Ansen offered, "that the Guilds haven't screamed blue murder at the interference with market commerce."

"They tried." Ansen's voice was dry. "Until Selenay pointed out that with most tax records destroyed in the flood, her only option would be to assess the entire year's tax rate at the current, inflated cost of the goods. So, if they insisted that this was what the goods were worth, she would tax them accordingly – regardless of what they used to be worth – or might be later this year."

Ansen snorted. "How did that go down?"

"About as well as you might expect. She did, however, offer them a one-year local purchase arrangement to provide essential goods for the rebuilding. Provided the quality and cost are the same, local providers will be the first choice for the rebuilding contracts." Cellen's smile was wry. "And given that most of their workforce doesn't even have homes anymore, the more work they can provide, the better off everyone is."

Ansen swallowed the last bit of bread with a sigh. "Alright, what else?"

"The Guard and Healers are taking care of things like water and sanitation. You'd think with all the water around it wouldn't be a problem, but it is. Some of the wells outside of town were contaminated by the runoff from the flood and the Healers are having to test each well and water source to make sure it hasn't spread underground. There's already some people sick but so far it seems to be under control.

"The Guard is handling most of the things a Watch would, but it's becoming a real problem. Petty theft, fights – that sort of thing. People are desperate and lashing out. Expect to spend a lot of time hearing cases. With all the disruption, people are having a hard time accepting the judgement of someone who is a total stranger and for all they know, isn't even a real magistrate. Fortunately, or unfortunately for us, everyone recognizes the authority of a Herald."

Ansen nodded his understanding. Lawgiving was one of the most public of a Herald's duties. Having a Herald as magistrate would provide a sense of stability and normalcy that went far deeper than merely dispensing justice.

"On a more practical note…I'm going to straight out and say it brother; I sure hope you don't snore." Cellen's eyes were twinkling. "Only two bedrooms and since our fellow Herald here is a woman, I rather imagine she'd rather have a room to herself. I'll even let you have the bed."

Ansen shook his head. "I don't snore." A thoughtful pause. "Kandrel, on the other hand…"

They were still smiling when the outer door slammed and booted feet thumped down the hallway. "Ansen?!"

Ansen's head turned so quickly Cellen could have sworn he heard a whip crack. The older Herald half rose from his chair, his face a mixture of shock and pleasure.

"Claudia?!" The normally composed Ansen was agape with surprise.

 _"You never told me they were here!"_ Ansen's Sending to Kandrel was thick with accusation.

 _::You never asked who the other pair was.::_ Kandrel replied logically. _::Besides, we thought you could use a_ good _surprise for a change.::_

 _"By 'we' I take it to mean you and Ylandriel?"_

 _::Who else?::_ The complacency was almost smug. After a second, Kandrel relented. _::Claudia was worried sick about you, you know. Ylandriel and I thought you could both use some unexpected joy.::_

Ansen's mindvoice warmed with love and affection. _"Thank you. I think. Give my love to Ylandriel."_

Kandrel didn't answer, but the tenor of his thoughts before the Companion faded out made Ansen glad he was long past blushing at the stallion's love life.

"Ansen!" Claudia's embrace was fierce. "I was afraid for you." It was soft, for his ears alone.

He gave her a gentle squeeze. "I admit to more than a bit of concern for my skin from time to time as well." He untangled from her hug and sat her down at the table with them.

Cellen was looking from one to the other, his expression bemused. "I was going to make introductions, but clearly that's not necessary."

Ansen and Claudia turned in unison to look at him, their faces bearing identical expressions of bafflement.

It was Ansen who spoke. "Cellen, when was the last time you visited our parents?"

"I was in Haven just after MidWinter and stopped in briefly to see them. They were both fine. Why?"

Claudia was shaking her head. "I have never understood why it is that men seem to have an inability to communicate with each other. You always seem to rely on the women in your lives to do it for you."

"Hey!..."

"That's not exactly fair!..."

The brothers jointly protested the characterization.

"Cellen…" Claudia glared at Ansen briefly. "You may have noticed that although you and I have been working together here for nearly a fortnight, our relationship has been very…formal."

Cellen nodded reluctantly. "Heralds don't always get along. Everybody in the Circle knows that. And I know I'm not everybody's cup of tea. Lancri and I sort of…do things our own way sometimes. I figured you didn't approve and wanted to keep your distance. I can respect that."

A huff. "Cellen, I was keeping my distance because I thought _you_ didn't approve of me somehow, and I didn't want to put you on the spot by pushing in where I wasn't wanted."

It was Cellen's turn to be baffled. "Approve of what?" A thought bloomed and he stared. "You two aren't married, are you?"

"Well, no." Ansen admitted. "But we do have a son together. Orren is eight months old now. He stays with mother and father when we're both in the field. In fact," Ansen looked at Claudia, "this is the first time we've been away from him for so long."

Cellen looked from one to the other. "I'm not sure whether I should congratulate you both or strangle at least one of you for not thinking to mention this. I won't strangle both of you because that would leave my nephew an orphan."

"Sorry?"


	12. Chapter 12

Gradually, it all came out.

Ansen, a profoundly private person who committed himself without stint when he gave of himself. A man who, despite the confidence and maturity of his years as a Herald, had nonetheless been reluctant to expose this part of himself to his parents and family.

He needn't have worried. His Healer parents, Kyminn and Cydris, were long acquainted with the scars that hard truths can bring. Both of them understood that a Herald's duty would always come first and that the reward and comfort of someone to share that Herald's life was a chancy thing.

They had welcomed Claudia on Claudia's own terms, offering only the degree of attachment that Claudia could find room for in her own heart. That Claudia could feel as comfortable at the Danner's hearth as she could her own parents was gratifying to them all.

Claudia – and Orren – were family, chosen by heart, not by blood or custom.

# #

Claudia, as introspective as Ansen but with a lighter, more open perspective. Like him, unwilling to bind another when bound to duty, but as deeply committed nonetheless.

Aware that not everyone understood what it meant to be a Herald, that for some her son represented scandal and failure, she was genuinely unmoved by the judgement of others. She was, however, loathe to cause discord for Ansen and had been willing to remain apart from his family if necessary.

That his family had simply expanded their table to make two more places had been a relief and joy.

# #

Cellen, his life as focused and directed as one of the Queen's own arrows, seldom crossed paths with either his parents or his siblings. His rare, all-too-brief visits were as unexpected as they were welcome. His parents, respecting of Ansen's privacy, had said nothing. It had been over two years since Cellen had last seen his older brother face to face, but they both would have gladly traded the prospect of seeing each other for the necessity of the warning he'd carried.

Cellen, in his own way, was as opposite to his brother as light was to dark. Headstrong where Ansen was cautious, trusting his heart where Ansen was introspective, the young Herald was the epitome of the rootless vagabond, an ever-moving ball on the tether that was Haven and family.

Cellen was well aware that his brash conviction was a trial to more sedate and measured personalities. That his instincts were right far more often than not didn't help matters. He'd long since learned how to if not change his ways, at least how to best direct his impulses when working with his fellow Heralds.

Thus it had sat when Cellen and Claudia found themselves together in Chapel Hill, each dispatched in warning and now working together to manage this next crisis.

Claudia, uncertain if Ansen had found the time to speak with Cellen, had found herself with three paths.

In the first, Cellen and Ansen had spoken and Cellen had been as welcoming as his parents had. Since Cellen had said nothing, this eventuality had clearly not taken place.

In the second, the conversation had taken place and Cellen had been – unlikely as it seemed from a fellow Herald and Ansen's brother – not open to the news. Were that the case, all she could do would be to maintain a professional distance and not deepen any rift which had developed between the two.

In the last, there had been no time, in the flood and subsequent flight to safety, to speak of personal things. In that case, her decision had been silence, judging this a matter for brothers first and foremost.

Instead, they had blundered about in blissful ignorance of each other, their mutual politeness leading to, as Cellen wryly put it, "The kind of revelation you expect in a puppet play."

That comment had brought laughter from all three of them and a new understanding.

"I had better get moving," Ansen finally said when they had settled again. "I need to find a place for the Families and brief them."

"You," Cellen said firmly, "need to stay here and rest."

"Cellen's right," Claudia interjected. "We can arrange to bring the work to you." She caught Cellen's eye and the younger Herald nodded in agreement.

"I'll talk to the Guard commander and arrange to have the information brought that you'll need. We've been trying to keep an up to date list of every refugee and their original holding. The list of goods and livestock they brought is also as up to date as we can manage." Cellen rose from the table. "Unlike Kandrel, Lancri hasn't been climbing over mountains for the past moon. Let Kandrel rest, I'm sure he could use it."

"And I," Claudia added, "Will see about getting accommodations arranged. That will take some negotiating as I think we'll have to move some people around. Getting some distance between them might be a challenge, but I'll do my best."

"Actually," Ansen said slowly, "I'd prefer you didn't. Separate them, I mean." He nodded, his voice more certain as he spoke. "What can you do about keeping them fairly close together?"

The other two Heralds bore looks of equal surprise.

A small smile. "Oh, they're not bosom friends, not be a long shot. That's a bit much to ask without divine intervention. However, they _have_ learned how to get along, and how to work together. And they are certainly going to have to work together for the foreseeable future. And the sooner everyone _sees_ them doing that, the better."

Cellen simply looked nonplussed. "You're the expert on the Families. We'll follow your lead."

"I think I can make the arrangements you describe," Claudia was clearly consulting a mental map. "Tell me – how close is 'close'? Same building just down the hall close? Or building next door close?"

"Just down the hall is a bit _too_ close," Ansen clarified. "If nothing else, there will be a lot of visitors and while the heads of the Families have learned out to get along, their retainers haven't yet. Also, they've been in very close quarters for a while and will need some space."

"Plus," Claudia pointed out, "some decisions for each House should remain in the house."

"Indeed. What would be perfect would be something like one of the guest wings at the palace. Separate suites with sitting rooms and a reception room or study. A common dining room – or meals taken in suites at need – plus a conference room to work in. I don't suppose you have anything like that?" There was irony in his voice.

"Actually…I think we do. Cellen? I was thinking about the monastery?"

Cellen nodded. "She's right, Ansen. I think it's exactly what you need."

"It's a monastery devoted to the Trine," Claudia explained. "The friar offered it to us when we arrived, but we haven't taken him up on his offer yet."

"If you're as short of housing as you say, why not?" Ansen's brow was furrowed.

"Several reasons, actually. First, part of the monastery is set aside for retreats and contemplation. The cells are small and very spartan. Most of our refugees are families and those rooms aren't at all suitable for that purpose.

"Second, there's the chapel. One of the conditions of the offer was that the chapel must be left available to those who need it. The main door of the chapel opens to the street, but there are two other doors which open into the monastery courtyard. Those doors lock from the monastery side. Anyone in the courtyard can open them. I – we" a nod at Cellen, "were worried that people would abuse the chapel by treating it as a hallway to the street. Or, worse yet, be tempted by some of the temple furnishings. I didn't want to put the monks in the position of having to question the motives of those in the chapel."

"And the Guard is busy enough without having to waste six men a day watching a pair of doors," Cellen offered.

A nod of understanding from Ansen.

"Lastly, there's the layout of the monastery itself. The main building contains a small kitchen and common refectory along with a library, an office and some common rooms. The common rooms could easily be reconfigured to serve as your meeting rooms. There are also three communal houses. One for men, one for women and the third – it's a monastery of the Trine, after all – for the friar and any guests. Each of these has several bedrooms along with privies and running water."

"While we could have housed families in the larger houses, there were the issues we mentioned with the chapel along with the fact that we hadn't yet come with an equitable way to assign what is, for the circumstances, very desirable accommodations." Cellen looked wry.

"For a time, we were using it as an infirmary, but the Healers wanted a bit more distance. They are using a converted storehouse on the outside of town at present. I'm sure Brother Barnard would be agreeable to installing the Families at the monastery."

Ansen looked profoundly relieved. "I can't believe you have the near-perfect solution here at hand! Let the Families provide the door wardens – I'm sure enough of their folk are here that they can manage that." A sigh. "I have a feeling that establishing guards from all three Houses on this one simple task may show us just how much work we have yet to do towards reconciliation."

 _::Assuming you can rely on them at all.::_ Kandrel pointed out.

"Yes, there's that too." Ansen thought back. Had he ever had a chance to tell Cellen about the attacks and the mine guard conspiracy? Had Cellen even noticed the state of the camp when he'd come in to deliver his warning? Ansen realized that he had no idea.

"There's something else I think you should know." With the precision and clarity of one accustomed to providing a Herald's reports, Ansen told the other two about the attacks on the camp, the conspiracy, Lady Lisle's and the others' pending trials.

"We'd gotten part of the story from the injured Guards that you sent out just before the warning. Most of our information came from a Captain Ivorson."

"How is she? Her injuries were severe." The condition of the Captain – and each of the other wounded – was one of the many concerns that Ansen had yet to put to rest.

"She lost an ear, as you probably know, but the Healers managed to save her eye, mostly. She has already requested a transfer to a training position. Says if she's not fit for field work she may as well not waste all the years she spent learning all those soldiering skills," Cellen said dryly. "I believe there was talk about having assigned to train the young officers. She'll certainly have the needed credibility."

"Indeed," Ansen murmured. "I'm glad to know she will prosper. What about…"

"Enough. We'll bring you a full report when we get back. In the meantime, we have things to see to. You rest. You'll be busy yet, never fear." Claudia gave Ansen's arm a warm squeeze. Even here, with only the three of them, it was the most open display of affection she would permit herself while they were yet on duty.

# # #

As Claudia had predicted, there was no shortage of work. The monks had willingly surrendered the monastery to the Families, shifting themselves to the retreat house without demur. The community had further offered to provide cooking and a few maintenance services for the duration. As Bernard had pointed out, as a religious community under vows, they could be considered neutral parties.

"Herald Claudia, we are well aware of the history and issues of this region. Many of us were born here and we've all had to handle the prejudices of our upbringing. But the Mother, like any good parent, teaches forgiveness even as the Father urges us to honor and probity. I believe we can serve well for this need."

"Thank you, Brother Barnard. I admit I'm not completely familiar with the Trine as worshipped in this part of Valdemar. I didn't want to ask anything which would conflict with your beliefs."

The friar's weather-creased face smiled back at her. "That would be a difficult request on many levels and I can't imagine it would be even possible from the lips of a Herald.

"Our faith has three Aspects, Herald – Father, Mother and Child. The Aspect of the Father is as many similar faiths and encompasses values like strength, honor, family and hard work. The Mother is nurturing, fertility, temperance. The Child, or Youth, is neither male nor female but rather includes all that comes from the Father and Mother – growth, change, conflict."

Barnard stopped. "But I digress. I could go on all day and I'm sure you'd end up thinking I was trying to convert you." His eyes twinkled.

Claudia matched his smile. "I'm sure you would never try such a thing." Hesitated, then "I do have a serious question however. We noticed your monastery has separate housing for men and women. We will be housing husbands and wives there, along with servants both male and female. That won't…violate any blessings or strictures on the use of those spaces will it?"

"Do you mean would we be upset if people engage in sex in our buildings?" He grinned at her expression. "We are a chaste community Herald, not a celibate one. While members of our community are living here, they are expected to abide by their vow to remain chaste outside a formal bond. The separate housing helps make this easier. If, however, they wish to marry, they are free to do so. Many of our community are here because either they wish to spend some time in service and contemplation before settling down or because they have chosen a life of service.

"While we would prefer that people observe this chastity while living here, there is no one true way. We will not ask others to live by the rules we have chosen for ourselves. In the event one of our guests offends us, well, then it will give us an opportunity to forgive them." Claudia didn't need the Truth spell to feel the conviction in Barnard's serene words.

"Thank you, Brother Barnard. You and your community are a credit to your faith."

# # #

Having three Heralds in one location was a rarity outside of Haven. They needed thirty – or so it felt like to Ansen at times.

The three of them fell into a division of duties based on what had come before. Claudia worked closely with the original residents of the community including the village Council, guildmembers and other local leaders. Cellen worked with the Guard, acting as a liaison between them and the refugees. Ansen worked with the three Lords, smoothing things over and helping build some structure for the temporary city that was emerging.

The Guard handled the majority of the day to day issues which arose. With everyone housed and supplies beyond the basic necessities starting to appear, they spent much of their time serving as the local Watch. While Chapel Hill fell squarely within Lord Lisle's demesne, many of the refugees preferred to petition their own Lords for justice. Miscreants were given the choice of facing a panel of the three Lords or a Herald. Many, perhaps uncertain of the unbiased nature of the panel, chose Herald's justice.

The first case Ansen heard pulled him back in time to his Internship days, involving as it did a dispute about livestock. In the end, it had turned out to be a fairly honest misunderstanding.

The Guard, finding themselves suddenly overrun by refugees and livestock, had had to quickly come up with a way of matching beast with owner. They had come up with a simple, but very effective system of patterned cords. Knots would be tied into the cord and the pattern recorded, so that the record might show that Tandor Lennick had brought with him five cattle and they were marked with a pattern of 2 squares, a barrel, a matthew walker and two wall and crowns. Once tied, the cord was dipped in dye. If the knots were altered, the cord would show it. Once on the animal, the final knot was also dipped.

It wasn't a perfect system, but it worked.

In the case in question, two nearly identical pairs of black cows had been assigned nearly identical knot patterns. When one owner tried to claim his animals, it turned out he had misheard his pattern. The resulting dispute had ended in blows.

Those were the easy cases.

More difficult was an insidious tendency of some to feel that somewhere, someone else – usually from another Lord's lands – had more of something and that they were entitled to it.

Your neighbour has two pots and you have only one? Take the second pot. They're only Vernenen and don't deserve it anyway.

Don't want to haul your rubbish to the midden heap? Dump it across the street, they're Polleck trash. They won't know the difference.

The incidents were increasing, and getting uglier. This morning, a woman had thrown boiling water on a mother and child, "To shut up the squalling Lisle brat". Both had been burned, but fortunately the thrower's aim had been poor.

To Ansen's – and the other Herald's – shock, the Lords acted before the Heralds.

"Heralds, we know what's been going on." Wulfric was as blunt as always. "I admit, it's a stone in my craw to see the old feuds play out here, amongst desperate people. Lisle here – with our agreement – is going to pass an ordinance to try to stamp some of this out. We can't tell people what to think, but we can damn sure try to keep them from acting on their stupid prejudices."

"It's simple, Heralds. I – we – consulted quite a few sources and we believe we have the law on our side. It's called 'Mitigating Circumstances'. If a crime – even a petty misdemeanor – was committed because it was against someone from another house, the punishment is treble. Furthermore, any penalty applied will benefit the victim and the other two houses." Lisle was grim.

"The problem," Ross Polleck said apologetically, "is that in order to make sure if Mitigating Circumstances applies, we need the help of a Herald."

"You have our help, and gladly," Ansen replied. "As soon as you pass the ordinance, it will be applied in our hearings."

"With all due respect, Heralds, we believe this is something that _we_ need to do. I am my people's leader, and when they hear that there will be a higher price to pay for hatred, they need to hear it from me." Lisle drew his shoulders back, his eyes even with Ansen's. "From now on, we'd have it that cases come to us first, with right of appeal to a Herald after. The way it should be."

"And we hope," Wulfric added, "that we'll have your backing, so long as you believe our decisions are just."

"Count on it."


	13. Chapter 13

"Cellen?"

For all it was only two candlemarks short of midnight, Cellen Danner was only part way through his dinner. He paused to swallow a bite of the savory meat pie he was devouring and cleared his mouth to speak.

"Lancri and I got back about three candlemarks ago and I've given my preliminary report to the commander. I'll be giving the Council a more detailed report tomorrow."

He handed a map to Ansen with one hand while stuffing another bite of pie into his mouth with the other. Ansen and Claudia pushed dishes aside and unrolled the map, unceremoniously pinning it down with mugs and cutlery.

"The condition of the low-lying areas is well known. Guard patrols and refugee reports have provided plenty of information on that score." Cellen looked over at his brother. "Those areas won't be habitable this year, or if they are, likely not with time to get more than basic shelter in place before winter. There certainly won't be time to get any crops in."

Claudia nodded. "There has been a lot of discussion on that point. I'm counting it as fortunate that this isn't a big farming region. Goats, sheep, and various kinds of mining. They already buy a lot of grain and corn. The Privy Council has already offered a small subsidy to farmers outside the affected area who are willing to expand their crops of things like beets and cabbage that will keep over winter. The subsidy, along with a small tax break, will mean they will come out a bit ahead if they grow those instead of more lucrative crops."

Cellen set his plate aside with a replete sigh. "Well, Lancri and I managed to cover more ground than we hoped. It helped that we'd already scouted some of it from the other direction." An ironic nod at Ansen. "Almost all of the tracks in this area," he indicted a series of careful notations on the map, "are more or less passable. Lots of wash outs and slides, but nothing that hard work won't clear. The only one that is seriously damaged can be bypassed. That opens up all these homes," his hand covered most of the region north of the river, "to immediate return. Many of the homes were damaged by rising water, but they build with stone here. The contents might be lost, but the roof and walls should still be sound."

"Now _that_ is good news." Ansen was examining the map, his brow furrowed as he considered. "That means we can start returning almost half our refugees right away."

"Indeed." Cellen's face lit up as he unwrapped the cloth covering of the last dish. This part of Valdemar boasted a particular dessert delicacy that Cellen had fallen in love with. A light, airy batter was piped in long sticks into hot oil and the resulting crunchy confection sprinkled with sugar, honey or warm spices. The flaky result appealed to the Herald's admitted sweet tooth. Even Lancri had become very insistent about getting his fair share whenever the treat appeared.

"How long do you think it will take to get that part moving?" Cellen asked as he savored the pastry.

"Not long at all," Ansen replied. "While the local Guard have been busy here with the basics, lots of other folks have been planning for just this part of the recovery. Building materials, road repair tools and other basic reconstruction goods have been arriving almost on the heels of the first set of emergency supplies. And not just tools either. Lots of raw iron and such for manufacturing hardware and whatever else is needed. There are several Artificers here too, to help with rebuilding the bridges and other crossings."

"And the Families? How's that going?" The younger Herald was carefully tidying up the few crumbs he'd left. For all his brash, action-forward personality, Cellen had surprised his brother with his attention to detail.

"Not terrible," Ansen admitted. "It's fair to say that the incidents of inter-family conflict among the refugees are the exception, rather than the rule. Most of the problems are what you'd expect from a lot of stressed people crowded together with strangers. We haven't had to invoke Mitigating Circumstances more than a half-dozen times. As for the Lords themselves…they are committed to a unified public front, which is good. Some of the closed-door meetings get pretty heated but I think it's just three very strong personalities coming to the fore. I'm not getting the impression that they're backsliding into their old ways, although I _do_ expect though that they will need very close watching for some time to come to keep them on the right track." He shook his head. "I don't envy the Circuit Herald, that's for sure. The briefing on this region is going to take _ages_!"

Ansen tilted his head thoughtfully. "Say more that we've managed to set the badly broken leg and so far, it seems to be mending. Now we have to see if the repair holds up to the strain of trying to run on it."

"And I'm afraid that the strain may come sooner than we'd prefer," Claudia admitted. Like all of them, she was tired and strained.

"She's right." Ansen wasn't happy. "We really can't postpone the trial any longer. Lady Lisle and the other raiders need to answer for the attacks. I think we have things stable enough that we can conduct the trial without setting off a riot."

Ansen looked at Claudia and Cellen. "I would appreciate your input on whether you think I should recuse myself from hearing this case. On the one hand, as one of the victims and a witness, not to mention being the Herald assigned to the negotiations, I'm the logical choice. If the flood hadn't happened, there would be no question of me doing it, as the only Herald available.

"On the other hand," Ansen continued, "I am _not_ the only Herald available. I am also a victim and witness. A pretty strong argument could be made that I'm biased."

"Circuit Heralds try cases in situations similar to this all the time," Claudia pointed out. "Fight off a raider band and then have to dispense justice afterwards. The fact that a Herald can be trusted to provide unbiased justice in situations like that are one of the reasons we can do what we do."

"She's not wrong." Cellen shrugged. "But a Circuit Herald, unless they are mentoring an internee, doesn't have the option of turning the case over. You do. Just because you could do it yourself doesn't mean that you _have_ to do it yourself. And given the unique circumstances, I think the wisest move is to make every effort we can to remove any suggestion of bias. Face it – no matter the outcome, a certain number of people are going to be unhappy. If there's steps we can take to give them one less thing to be unhappy about, I think we should."

"Ansen? You're the diplomat. Dealing with delicate situations is your specialty. What do your instincts tell you?"

"That Cellen's right," Ansen agreed readily. "It was my first choice, but I wanted to discuss it with you two first and see if I was missing anything. I also wanted to make sure you understood my reasoning."

"Fair enough." A decisive nod from Cellen. "So, who hears the case?"

"I considered letting the Lords pick, but there's too many problems with that idea. For one, Lord Lisle's wife is on trial, so _he_ shouldn't be involved in any decisions around the case. That leaves two, and if they can't come to an agreement, well, then we have a problem.

"My suggestion is that we let the Fates decide. Draw stones and the white stone hears the case."

"Better let someone else draw." It was dry. "I wouldn't want to be accused of Seeing and picking out which stone I want." Cellen didn't – quite – roll his eyes.

# # #

In the end, it was a small child, recruited from the crowd of onlookers who reached into a bag and presented – sight unseen – Claudia and Cellen with their stones. Cellen promptly retired to the wings while Claudia took her place at the magistrate's bench.

The trial for the two groups of attackers – the mine guard cabal and Jerrit Lisle's vengeful gang – was relatively straightforward, if lengthy. Rumours of the events had been growing for some time; stories ranging from a plot by the Heralds to wrest control of the region away from the families through every conceivable combination of family versus family, coups, missing heirs, and even a bizarre tale of a bandit queen and her court. That last one could, the Heralds agreed, most likely be laid at the feet of a trio of local minstrels. In any case, there was little they could do to stuff that particular chick back into its egg.

Claudia took her time, questioning each of the accused under the Truth spell. Regrettably, Jerrit Lisle had succumbed to his injuries following the last attack and was not available to answer for his part in the matter. Claudia took equal care with the witnesses, collecting their testimony alongside that of the accused. Not all the Guard were available – many of the injured had been sent on for further treatment and therapies. All those who could, however, had provided sworn testimony prior to departure and this was included with the rest of the evidence.

Ansen was the last to provide testimony, his words calm and measured as he described his mission, the negotiations and the events surrounding the two battles. He was unstinting in his analysis of his own decision-making process and honestly – if tactfully - frank when describing the impediment the Lords had represented. By the time his testimony was complete, everyone knew exactly what had happened and who had done what. Claudia declared a recess while she considered her ruling.

Claudia, like most Heralds, wasn't squeamish with respect to the more severe aspects of dispensing justice, but, also like most Heralds, was not enamoured of the prospect of hanging thirty-two men.

Some of her decisions were unavoidable, for well over half of those involved had willingly entered into the conspiracies, knowing they were attacking both a Herald and a rightful overlord. Although some, once caught, clearly regretted their actions, they had willingly engaged in murder and conspiracy to commit treason. Those men would hang.

One man, she released into the care of the Healers. Abel Neuman was an individual with limited understanding and while he had willingly participated in events, he had hurt no one. Told all his life that Lisles were the enemy, he had genuinely believed that he was acting as his Lord wished by taking part in the attack. Unable to comprehend the wrongfulness of his actions, he was more victim than villain in this case. Claudia directed the man be housed in a temple well away from the area, some place where his loyalty and gullibility would not be used against him.

Five of the attackers were youths, over the age of fifteen but less than the age of majority. Each of them had followed a father or older brother (in two cases, both) into the plot. Those she sentenced to five years labour with the Guard, with the note that they were not to be stationed in this part of Valdemar. Hopefully, she reasoned, broadening their horizons would broaden their minds while it shrank their prejudices.

The remaining six men received seven to ten years of labour, depending on their circumstances. In those cases, the men had been unaware of the plan until shortly before the first attack and, once committed, had feared what their fellows would do if they refused to participate. None of these men had struck a foe to attack. All of them, except for one, had actively tried to avoid engaging in combat with anyone. That man had been forced to defend himself but surrendered at the earliest possible opportunity. None of them, however, had taken the opportunity to flee as had some of the other draftees. For their decision – however poorly considered and reluctant it was – she had no option but to find them guilty.

# # #

The hangings had taken place the day before. The twenty men had been offered access to a priest or priestess of their choice and an opportunity to write a last letter and testament. While the affair was public, the Heralds and Guard ensured that it did not become a spectacle. Anyone who threatened to become disruptive was quietly and efficiently removed. It helped that a good number of Guard, both in uniform and in plain clothes, were sprinkled throughout the crowd. Security that night was increased, both obviously and in quieter ways. Whether it was that or the clarity of the trial, the nights remained quiet.

Now, however, it was Aztenzia Lisle's turn. As a conspirator, but not combatant, her trial was handled separately.

"Lady Lisle, please confirm your name and station for the record."

"My name is Aztenzia Mirren Parith Lisle, born Aztenzia Belloc. I am the second daughter of Andres Belloc and Tyra Gillford. My father was a senior mine manager for Lord Sterran Lisle, grandfather to my husband Lord Whillard Lisle."

"And your marriage?" Claudia had all this information of course, but it was a required part of the proceedings.

"My father frequently met with Lord Sterran and his heir, Geddis Lisle. My father and Lord Geddis agreed to my betrothal when I was seven and Whillard eleven. We wed when I was fifteen. By that time, Lord Sterran had died and my father-in-law, Lord Geddis held title."

"Lord Geddis was killed soon after, was he not?"

The blue of the Truth spell didn't flicker, making the bitterness in Aztenzia's voice seem stark and ugly. "Yes. He drowned when a Polleck barge overturned on the river during a spring storm. The Pollecks killed him." True or not, it was clear what Aztenzia Lisle believed.

"And your husband took title, making you Lady Lisle."

A nod. "I did, and I've upheld my lord's honor with every breath I took. Everything I've done, every drop of sweat I've shed was to advance and protect our House. I gave my husband four strong children, two sons and two daughters. House Lisle will endure."

"And yet you gave your first-born child, your daughter Rissa, in marriage to Ross Polleck," Claudia pointed out.

"I put my grandchild on the seat of House Polleck, you mean. _My_ blood will hold the House even as now our daughter whispers to Ross Polleck, turns his head, listens to his secrets."

In the gallery, Rissa Polleck's face twisted with disgust as she shook her head mutely.

Claudia continued to ask questions, unfolding the years of conflict, the death of Poll Lisle and Aztenzia's role as Jerrit's surrogate mother.

"Of course I knew how Jeritt felt. I cared for that child as if he were my own."

 _::Cared for. Not loved. Her children and Jeritt were simply tools of her ambition and hatred.::_ Ylandriel's scorn was withering. Claudia silently agreed, careful to keep her opinions from her face.

"When Jerrit said he was going to put things right I was happy to help. I also didn't ask. Money yes, and goods here and there. Money mostly. And every time word came of another problem for Polleck and Vernenen, I knew, _knew_ it was Jerrit. Anything that weakened them and raised us up – that's 'truth', Heralds. That's what it should be at any rate. That…" and she spat, "for your agreement. They won't keep it, nor should we. Should have let them all drown."

It took several minutes, along with some rather vigorous ejections from the gallery before the crowd silenced after that statement. Lord Lisle refused to meet anyone's eye, his face blank and frozen. Aztenzia had been removed from the stand and returned, none too gently, to the prisoner's bench.

"Lady Herald, may I speak?" Rissa Polleck's voice was thin and tight. At Claudia's nod, Rissa seated herself in the witness chair. "I would like people to know the truth please, Lady Herald. If that's alright."

Claudia glanced at Cellen and the familiar glow settled around Lady Polleck. The Heralds were taking it in turns to apply the Truth Spell. There'd been a great need for it of late.

"I want everyone here to know," Rissa cleared her throat and raised her voice. "I want everyone here to know that I didn't know anything about my mother or cousin's plans and I don't want any part of it. I love my siblings and my heritage, but I also love my children and their future. I will not let one destroy the other. You know that I did not marry for love…" titters and knowing looks greeted this comment, "…but I know my duty. My husband is a good man who tries to be a good caretaker and lord. My mother's ambitions aren't mine and never will be. I will not destroy the house my children will inherit."

Scattered applause, quickly quelled, rippled through the crowd. At a pointed look from Claudia, Ross Polleck, the Vernenens and Lord Lisle also came up to declare their innocence in the matter.

"Very well." Claudia waited until everyone was settled. "Aztenzia Lisle, you will stand."

"Aztenzia Lisle, you are found guilty by your own words of crimes too many to enumerate. Each payment you made, each time you looked the other way, altered a report, diverted goods – each of these is an offense in and of itself. One could take the view that your only offense was against your husband as you stole his goods and gold and lied to him. That is not my finding.

"Your gold, your goods, your lies purchased vandalism. They purchased theft, assault and arson. _Those_ crimes I do find you guilty of. On the charge of treason and attempted murder of Ross Polleck…while you enabled these crimes, you did not knowingly solicit them. And that – that lack of knowing – is all that saves you from the noose."

Claudia paused and opened the book of laws. Most towns had one, usually kept by the headman or town clerk. Ansen had had to look quite hard to track this one down, given all the disruption.

"In the laws of Valdemar, 'title' means more than absolute possession of lands or property. It also applies to titles of estate. In other words, an Earl or Duke not only owns their land, they also hold title to the title of Duke or similar. They 'own' the title, for lack of a better explanation.

"A title, such as Lord Lisle's Earldom, is also entailed. The lands – and the title that does with it – stay together and can only be passed to an heir of Lord Lisle's lineage." Claudia looked up at Aztenzia. "It does not automatically extend to a spouse.

"You are not, in fact, automatically entitled", a small nod of acknowledgement at the ironic phrasing, "to call yourself Lady Lisle. While this is a convention and convenience, you do not hold a title by right of birth. And you do not hold one now." It was flat.

The audience, not understanding, glanced at one another in confusion. The Lords and Heralds, however, were nodding in understanding.

"Your ambition, your attempts to subvert others in to advance the cause of house Lisle have caused untold measures of harm and suffering. I cannot remove the name Lisle, for that is a legal recognition of your marriage. I can, however, remove from you the right to call yourself Lady Lisle, to have the rights and priviledges that accompany the title Duchess. In the event of the ending of your marriage, or upon the death of your husband, you will revert to your maiden name."

"You can't…" Aztenzia's eyes were wide with shock.

"I find it interesting that you care more about a word, a name, than you do the life of your son-in-law or those whom you have harmed." It was cold. "Your divestiture is the best I can do to counter your overweening ambition. We will now address the matter of harm.

"I cannot require you to pay restitution, for your funds are tied to your husband's and he is innocent in this matter. Any restitution which comes from your common coffers comes from the work of others, not your own. It would serve no purpose. _You_ must provide the restitution required."

Claudia glanced down at her documents again.

"Aztenzia Belloc Lisle, you will spend five days of each seven working in the service of the temples of Lisle. You will do so for eight candlemarks out of twenty-four, although you may break that up as you wish. You will, however, be present at the temple from the moment of sunrise until the first moment after sunset. If you go to the temple for your allotted time and refuse to work, that's your choice. But you will also not be fed. You are welcome to eat as much as you like before you attend the temple – provided it is before sunrise or after sunset. In summer," Claudia added bitingly, "it could be a very long time between meals if you choose that path."

Aztenzia Lisle was trying to protest but having trouble forming coherent speech.

"I do this out of recognition for your age and background. If you fail to comply, you will find yourself at hard labour. Am I clear?"

"I…how long…"

"By your own admission, you have been working against the other houses since your husband ascended to his title. That is, by my calculation, some twenty-six years."

"I'll be dead long before then!" It was a screech.

"Tell it to the dead. Perhaps they will have mercy on you, for I cannot. They deserve far more from you than this, Aztenzia, but this is the best I can do."


	14. Chapter 14

The now-familiar presence brushed politely against his mind and Ansen thinned his shields in response, projecting a wordless _?_ at his brother.

 _"Ansen, I've received a request for a confidential meeting. As the house is the only reasonably discreet option at present, I would appreciate it if you could manage to stay away for the next two or three candlemarks or so."_

Ansen took a half second to consider Cellen's words. Cellen wasn't asking for acquiescence, this was a Herald politely exercising his professional prerogative. The senior Herald's response was automatic.

 _"Of course. If it's easier, I'll wait until your say so."_

 _'Thank you. I appreciate it. I'm not sure how long this will take and I'd prefer not to set a time on it."_ There was a pause, then _"Would you happen to know where Claudia is?"_

 _"I do. In fact, I'm on my way to meet her. The Healers have some concerns about this fever they're seeing. Would you like me to pass on your message?"_

 _"I would, thank you for that."_

Ansen considered for a moment. By personality, most Heralds were leaders to a greater or lesser degree. Even Herald Myste, seemingly the least-militant Herald possible, was an undisputed authority in her particular sphere and no one argued with her when she exercised that authority. While this leadership trait was trained and developed during a Herald's time at the Collegium and, later, during their mentorship, it often took conscious effort to set aside that trait when working with one's fellow Heralds. When Heraldic wills and senses of duty collided, the results could be…interesting.

As senior Herald, Ansen was nominally 'in charge', a formality seldom observed in the moment. Part of Ansen wanted to ask Cellen who he was meeting and remind his colleague to report back any relevant information. It was easy, however, to ignore that fleeting instinct. Cellen would do what was right and necessary, and _that_ was all that was relevant.

He brought his attention back to their conversation. _"Healer Dhaffyd is considering postponing letting refugees return until they figure out this fever. If that's the case, the news won't be well received."_

Mindspeech has the odd effect of 'flattening' tone, but Cellen nonetheless managed to convey chagrin. _"I may need to know that. I'll be in touch if that's the case."_ Cellen withdrew and Ansen's shields settled back into place.

###

"…the normal course of injuries you'd expect. Trips and falls, muscle strains, kitchen burns, that sort of thing. It's also normal to have a 'camp cough' or some sort of stomach upset run through when you get people crammed into close quarters like this." Healer Dhaffyd looked at Claudia and Ansen as they nodded their understanding. "The locals – and the Guard – have done a very good job with water and making sure the jakes are being properly managed. It took a few days to get that set up, but for the past two moons things have been running well on that score."

"So this fever you're seeing, it's something else? Not water-fever or the flux?" Claudia was referring to a pair of diseases often associated with overcrowding and poor sanitation. Both were highly contagious and could be deadly if not properly treated.

"No Herald," Dhaffyd shook his head firmly. "First, no initial stomach pain or loose bowels. Second, we've tested all the drinking water sources multiple times. We're sure it's not those. The symptoms are completely different."

"What are you seeing then?" Ansen's brow was furrowed in thought as he tried to recall distant readings on epidemics.

Dhaffyd ticked off symptoms as he spoke. At just under four feet tall, Healer Dhaffyd presented a somewhat singular appearance. His foreshortened limbs and barrel chest further added to his distinctiveness. While he was well regarded amongst his own peers, he'd had to work harder than most to be accepted by the world at large as the very skilled professional he was. Dhaffyd wasn't bitter, but he was the first to admit that the subtle (and often not-so-subtle) social challenges he'd experienced due to his short stature had affected his outlook.

"The main symptom is fever and the symptoms you'd normally see with that: headache, nausea, vomiting, extreme fatigue. Almost all patients complain of backache, which is a bit unusual. Generalized joint aches are common with many fevers, but a specific back ache is not. Most patients experience this for five or six days and then recover with no other problems."

Dhaffyd shook his head. "Patients – or their families – show up because someone is ill with the fever and we'd been sending them back with the usual fever remedies and it seemed to be working. In the last two sennights, however, we've had nine patients return with very serious symptoms: jaundice, severe abdominal pain and bleeding from the mouth and nose. Four of the nine died and we'll probably lose at least two more."

"Was there anything notable about the four that died?" Claudia inquired. "Any pre-existing condition that might have accounted for it?"

"Nothing that we've found so far," Dhaffyd admitted, "but we're checking. We've also started an informal survey of how many went on to the 'yellow' phase of this fever. So far, it's about two in ten patients, with half of them dying." Dhaffyd's expression was grim. "This morning, twenty-two more patients have appeared so far, and more are still coming. And that doesn't count those whose families _didn't_ seek treatment."

"That's…not good," Ansen admitted heavily. "What do you need from us?"

"I have two specific requests. First, we've asked the Guard who are doing the daily foot patrols to make a note of how many people seem to be affected. I would appreciate it if you could throw your Heraldic weight in support of that measure, especially when it comes to dealing with the Families and the local Council."

"Consider it done." Ansen echoed Claudia's nod.

"Second, we – I – could use some help trying to track down the source of this illness. My colleagues and I have tested all the food and water sources, as well as the family members of our patients. Some of the family members are ill, but this doesn't seem to be spread from person to person or from anything ingested.

"Of the Healers here, I'm the most adept at finding the kind of contamination or contagion we're looking for. I need to get out there and see if I can't find the source. In order to do that, I need to find a wagon low enough to step in and out of easily as I'm going to be doing a lot of it. I'm hoping you might have a solution on that score."

 _::I'll help.::_

Kandrel tossed his head in a nod at the Healer.

 _"That's very generous of you."_ Ansen couldn't mask his startlement.

 _::Why are you surprised? He needs help, and this is the best solution. You and I can get him exactly where he needs to be.::_

Ansen let his gratitude and love flow between them before the Herald turned his attention back to Dhaffyd.

"Kandrel and I will take you."

The Healer didn't try to hide his pleasure. "Thank you both. I hadn't wanted to ask, but to be honest, I was hoping you would offer."

Claudia rose and dusted herself off. "In the meantime, I'll have a word with the Guard and the Council to let them know what's happening and that the Heralds are working with the Healers on this."

"Kandrel and I will be back shortly. I want to make a few adjustments to his tack for this. I assume you want to get this started as soon as possible?"

"Indeed. I'll be ready." Dhaffyd's nod of thanks was sober.

# # #

"Milady Herald, do you have ANY IDEA what you're asking?" The head of the local Carter's Guild was stuttering with anger. "I've got nearly four dozen wagons loaded or nearly so and ready to depart the day after tomorrow. And when those return, they are due to be reloaded and sent out again. It took us days to work out the routes and schedules if we're to get everyone out by fall. No way in hell can we stop now!"

"What my colleague is trying to say is that he's concerned you haven't considered the implications of this decision…" the Master Cooper tried to interject, his tone soothing as though he were speaking to a small child. Claudia tried not to grit her teeth.

"It's preposterous, that's what it is!" The Master of Mines shouted over both of them. "My people need to get back to work, back to their homes. You can't keep us here, we're not prisoners!"

"Are you daft, man? Do you _want_ to send this illness out there? You're being even more dunderheaded than usual and that's saying a lot!" The representative from the Miller's Guild's face was so close to the Carter's that spittle was flecking the Carter's cheeks.

"You just want to keep us trapped here, buying your that crappy last-year's sweepings you pass off as flour, you greedy grubber!" the Carter shrieked back.

Claudia sighed and let them shout at each other. The sooner they got the fear out of their systems, the sooner she could get them accomplishing something.

 _"How are things going with you and Dhaffyd?"_ She reached out for the calm _sanity_ that was a fellow Herald.

 _"Nothing so far, but we've managed to eliminate several things."_ Ansen sent her an image of the three of them. The Herald had rigged up a sturdy pillion pad for the Healer, complete with clever looped straps to act as stirrups. Dhaffyd's physique didn't allow him to straddle Kandrel's back easily, and the 'stirrups' gave the Healer something to brace himself against – not that it was necessary with Kandrel. A second set of straps gave him something to hold onto aside from Ansen's coat.

 _"Dhaffyd's checking the flocks of geese at the moment. He says sometimes animal diseases can make the jump to humans, so he has to eliminate that possibility."_

 _"Good luck."_

 _"I've a feeling you're going to need it more than we do."_

# # #

"I'm sorry Herald, Kandrel." Dhaffyd stretched in the doorway of the barn. "Food and human vectors aside, animal contagion was the next most likely possibility. There's a respiratory virus carried by mice that we sometimes encounter and I thought perhaps we were seeing some variant of it." He shook his head in negation. "That's it for birds and animals I'm afraid."

"What's next then?" Ansen offered the Healer a water flask. The barn had been dusty.

"It gets much harder," the Healer admitted. "It could be anything at this point. Even a fungus in the soil. We may literally stumble across it. Or, we may never find it."

"Hm," was Ansen's only response. Then, at a prod from his Companion, he added "Kandrel is wondering if you want to continue to look or if you want to focus your energies on dealing with the outbreak."

"Kandrel asks good questions." Dhaffyd sighed. "It's never a clear choice. If this was something spread readily from person to person, we could manage it with a quarantine protocol. But this is, apparently, being transmitted or caused by _something_. And if we can find it, we might be able to shut down this disease before it gets worse.

"If neither of you has any objection, I'd like to continue looking. If we don't find anything today, we can set the search aside for now. If need be, we can take it up later. Thanks to your help, I've managed to get far more done than I expected, and even a negative result is _something_ since it helps narrow things down."

Ansen simply gave brief nod and held out his hands, ready to boost the Healer up.

# # #

 _"Cellen? Are you free to talk?"_

 _"I am. Things here wrapped up about a half candlemark ago and I was making my notes. What's up?"_

 _"I'm here too."_ Claudia's Mindvoice was a light alto, somehow distinctively _her_.

 _"We've found the source of the illness. I'm looking at it now. All several million of them."_

The image in Ansen's mind was of a stagnant pond, one of the hundreds left from the inundation. As the water had receded, these impromptu ponds had emerged, slowly drying over the course of the season. With nowhere to drain, these were left to dry on their own. The area was dotted them.

 _"Puddles?"_ Cellen's mindvoice was puzzled. _"Are people drinking out of them?"_

 _"Not the puddles."_ Ansen was weary – and frightened. _"Mosquitos. The disease is being carried by the mosquitos."_

 _"Oh crap."_


	15. Chapter 15

_::I don't mean to be insulting Chosen, but you really, REALLY reek.::_ Kandrel's nostril's were pinched and his expressive face was distinctly unhappy.

The response was glum. "I know, and I'm so sorry. I know your sense of smell is far more acute than mine and the stench is nearly making _me_ gag!"

For reasons no one had ever figured out, Companions weren't subject to biting insects the same way horses were. That same immunity, however, did not extend to their Heralds. And the fact that flies and such didn't actually land and bite the Companions didn't mean that they weren't sometimes surrounded by swarms of the obnoxious pests. The noise alone – along with the occasional inhaled gnat – was enough to make even the most patient Companion cranky.

To protect them both from the onslaught, Ansen had liberally coated them both with fellis-oil. Its greasy pungency was effective, but unpleasant. Insects – along with anything else with a sense of smell – gave them a wide berth.

Ansen could feel Kandrel's unhappy rumbling in the back of his mind as the Companion picked his way through the trees.

 _::According to Cellen and Lancri, the next pond is just up ahead.::_

Ansen didn't bother to check the map. Cellen and Lancri's survey had been spot on so far. Between Cellen's Farsight and Lancri's speed, the pair were well on their way to locating all the ponds which needed draining or filling in. Ansen had volunteered to work on the smaller areas while the Guard dispatched larger teams to the more significant ones. Some of those would take several days of work to remedy.

Cellen had quietly expressed surprise when the small Council had not, as he had expected, panicked when faced with a potential epidemic. Ansen had explained.

"The flood, while devastating, is under control. People know what needs to be done and who is going to do it. It's just a matter of time and resources now that there's a plan. Just another job, albeit a very large one.

"Epidemics, well, most of these folks have experienced one at some point. It's a problem they know how to manage. I'd wager that more than a few of them are relieved there is already so much help available, even if it took another disaster to get them here."

"Do you think the quarantine will actually hold? Those who were just about to return home were awfully unhappy at being turned away. Hard to fault someone who sees home as a better place to be than a plague camp."

Ansen fully understood his brother's position. Valdemaran law and history placed a heavy emphasis on personal freedom; so long as one person's free action didn't harm another's. In this case, the line between freedom of travel and public safety was not necessarily clear. What was the likelihood that a person was carrying the fever and would spread it as they travelled? Where they more at risk in the camp or on the road?

"Dhaffyd believes that as soon as we can manage the mosquitos, the rate of infection will drop. Once that happens, the Healers will be able to start clearing people for travel. If all goes well, we're looking at a delay of a sennight or two at most."

Which was why Cellen and Lancri had taken the most accurate map available and spent the last three days marking every puddle and pond within a mile radius of the camp. The Healers, in the meantime, had issued draconian directions regarding standing water (none) and long grass (cut short.) Claudia had, on behalf of the crown, pledged payment at harvest-labour rates to anyone willing to cut standing grass or help fill in ponds. With so many having lost their source of income as a result of the flood, there had been more than enough willing hands to help.

"Here it is." Ansen swatted reflexively at the cloud of insects which had arisen when they disturbed the edge of the latest impromptu pond.

 _::A least there's nothing dead in it this time.::_

Ansen had to admit that Kandrel had a point. Two of the ponds they had encountered today had had carcasses trapped in the mire. The altered landscape had left both wildlife and wandering livestock subject to unexpected bogs. Dealing with the carcasses had not improved Ansen's aroma.

"What do you think? Small enough for us to manage?" Ansen climbed down and unlimbered the shovel.

Kandrel paced the perimeter. This was a small puddle, some six feet long and two wide. _::Maybe use the shovel to check how deep this is. I have a feeling it's a lot deeper than it looks.::_

Ansen cautiously extended the shovel to the center of the puddle and lowered it down. When he pulled it up, the water mark sat two feet up the shaft. "Well. Not what I wanted to see."

Kandrel rapped one hoof against the ground, which echoed back a sharp crack of stone. _::It would take candlemarks to bail this and I think there may be too much rock for you to fill it in.::_

Ansen lay down on the ground, shifting frequently and peering with one eye closed.

 _::I assume you're not just finding a comfortable place to nap.::_ it was dry.

"I'm thinking of our last visit with Mehret a few years ago. She showed us the canal project she was working on, remember?"

The white head bobbed. _::I remember. You're thinking of cutting a channel to drain it?::_ Kandrel paced the perimeter again. _::The ground slopes downhill here. If the channel was deep enough, it could drain over this gravel. It would be dry within a day.::_

# # #

It took the two of them the remainder of the afternoon to dig the channel. It twisted and curved in the rocky ground and several times the pair had had to shift larger stones to clear the way. Both of them were liberally coated with fetid muck and the remains of a drowned porcupine they had found wedged under a tree limb. Ansen had unabashedly retched when the stinking thing had appeared.

 _::I almost – but not quite – wish it were physically possible for me to vomit.::_

"Believe me, I understand. As soon as we're done here we'll find some _running_ water and I'll clean up. That should help."

 _::Thank you Chosen.::_ It was apologetic.

# # #

Bathing in the stream hadn't done much for his Whites, but Ansen had taken off his under shirt and used it as a rag to wipe off as much filth as he could manage. He wasn't clean, but he could tell that Kandrel was much more comfortable with the prevailing odor.

"So, what did you think of Cellen's announcement the other day?" Ansen asked as Kandrel bore them down the mountain in the gathering dusk.

 _::About Lord Lisle?::_ the white tail swished rhythmically, a sure sign that Kandrel was giving a matter serious consideration. _::I was a bit surprised at first that he was intending to resign, but I think it makes sense.::_

"I agree," Ansen began.

 _::Naturally.::_ Kandrel gave a mirthful skip.

"Hush you!" The laugh was affectionate. "If you had asked me at the start of all this if I had thought he would step aside I would have said 'Not in a million years.' But…I think Lady Lisle's conviction took a lot out of him."

 _::Hard to see how it would be otherwise,::_ Kandrel pointed out, _::How can people trust his judgement after learning that his wife was conspiring against him for a decade or more and he never noticed?::_

"I never got the sense the two of them were all that close. He almost seemed relieved at the idea that maybe she'd be having an affair. I thought his pride wouldn't have let him resign."

 _::To be honest, Heartbrother, I think his pride is what is making him resign. This is his last chance to be seen to act 'for his House' rather than remaining and turning into a laughingstock. 'Look, there's Lisle the Blind!' 'Where's your wife, Whillard?' No, this is his pride talking. We're just fortunate that it is actually in the best interests of his House that he's doing it.::_

"True, that. Lady Lisle aside, none of them are truly bad people. Just…trapped in the past and unwilling to let go of it. The healing has only just started."

# # #

Heralds are seldom not busy and their present situation maintained that truth. Cellen and the Guard worked together to maintain the quarantine and keep order in the camp. Ansen was kept busy smoothing things between the Council and various interest groups. Claudia, who had two previous epidemics under her belt, worked closely with the Healers. Her Mindspeech was modest at best, but her Gift had shown itself to be particularly compatible with the Healing Gift and she shared freely of her strength.

Ansen wearily hoisted himself back into Kandrel's saddle. "All things being equal, I don't think a discussion over wool pricing was a good use of the Council's time today. It could have waited another sennight or so. The discussion over cured wood and how to allocate it to all the projects that need it, now _that_ was what we should have been talking about."

Kandrel gave a snort of agreement. _::The wool guild was louder.::_

Ansen shifted in the saddle, fatigue making his body ache. "Joke's on them. No one is going to buy any wool without a house to put it in, and for that they need wood."

The pair were silent, each wrapped in their own thoughts.

 _::Brother.::_ the gentle tone broke into Ansen's reverie.

"Hmm? Are we there so soon?" Ansen looked up, then around.

 _"Kandrel?"_

 _::Heartbrother, this is where you need to be. You have a fever.::_

"I'm just overtired…" the protest was weak as Ansen shivered with a sudden chill even as he dismounted.

 _::So do Claudia and Cellen.::_ Kandrel gestured with his head at Lancri and Ylandriel, waiting restively outside the warehouse which had become the House of Healing.

"I…"

 _::Tell Dhaffyd we're out here. He'll do what's needed. Go.::_ A firm push and Ansen found himself stepping into the dim warehouse, a small distance that somehow felt infinite.


	16. Chapter 16

_He was trying to paint the wall, and he knew it was supposed to be white. Yet every time he brushed on another stroke of paint, it came out in a different colour. The more he tried to cover up the mess, the more garish and bizarre the colours became. Nearby, a man-sized cricket stood on its two hind legs and made critical comments._

 _The wall was behind him now, a half mile away through the wild meadow. All the paint had run off and was puddling in multi-hued pools on the ground. Ansen was kneeling beneath a perfectly manicured apple tree, trying to catch musical notes that fluttered in clouds like lightning bugs. He couldn't see them though, he could only find them through the delicate tones they produced. It seemed a shame to disrupt their harmony and something about having to do so made him inexplicably sad._

 _"No, you must listen to this part!" The young man in ragged clothes had vivid blue eyes as he repeated the lines of poetry. The foreign syllables were unfamiliar, but Ansen knew the poem described a bowl of crystal fruit._

 _Exhausted beyond belief, he crawled into the largest mixing bowl he could find and curled up on the bottom, the sound of water on the shore and the gentle rocking of the waves a curiously soothing relief from the growling of wolves._

"There you are, Herald. Nice to see you awake and with us again." Dhaffyd's calm smile somehow communicated everything Ansen needed to know about his prospects for recovery.

"The others?" It came out a broken squeak.

"Well and more well. They've been up and recovering for a couple of days now. You, however, seem to have put as much diligence into being ill as you do everything else." The wry twitch of the Healer's lip removed any sting from the words.

Dhaffyd glanced at something behind Ansen's bed and the Healer looked exasperated. "Very well," he growled. "Have a look. Not that you don't know that he's perfectly fine."

A beloved broad white face interposed itself in front of Ansen's view of the Healer. Ansen felt himself smiling.

 _::You look much better, two-footed brother.::_ Kandrel's grassy breath was warm on Ansen's cheek.

 _::I_ feel _much better too.::_ Ansen raised one hand to scratch that _particular_ spot along the side of Kandrel's jaw. The Herald was surprised at how heavy and sore his arm was. _::I had the MOST peculiar dreams!::_ He felt, more than heard, an echo of agreement from the Companion.

 _::The Healer told Claudia and Cellen to expect to feel sore and tired for a few days. Cellen said he felt like Alberich had been using him for pells again.::_ The mirth in the Companion's tone said that Kandrel expected that it was a circumstance with which Cellen was intimately familiar.

Ansen gave a low chuckle of agreement. "I promise to rest and obey the Healers. There's a lot of work to do and trying to overdo it will just make things take longer."

"I will note in my log that the Herald says he will be sensible." A dry cough. "Of course, no one will ever believe me." The Healer hopped to his feet. "Rest, food and mild stretches. We have the process down pat by this point. You," Dhaffyd pointed at Kandrel, "please do your best to make sure he follows the regimen. Ah – and I'll have someone get you some more suitable bedding. This straw may be all very well if this were a stables, but it isn't and we don't need the mess."

# # #

True to the Healer's prediction, by the fourth morning after the fever had broken, Ansen felt fully recovered and was happy to launch himself back into his work. Claudia and Cellen, having recovered a few days sooner, had made sure Ansen was up to date on activities in the camp.

"Anyone who had the fever and who has passed the fortnight quarantine for the secondary infection has been released to return their homes. Treatment of those who have the fever is labour intensive, but straightforward. Like with any fever, the Healing Gift isn't particularly helpful, so Dhaffyd's got a small army of people cooking up batches of fever teas and the like." Cellen paused to consult his notes. "Those who get the second infection, the yellow fever, those need more of the Healer's time, especially since it attacks the liver so aggressively. The second fever is still affecting about twenty percent of patients. The Healers have done their best, but they are still losing a little under half of those."

The Heralds each glanced away, their expressions turned inward as they processed the cost of the epidemic.

Claudia cleared her throat. "The good news is that the rate of new cases is dropping. It was slow at first, but now the decline is significant. The measures put in place to control the mosquitos are definitely working and the Guard is making sure every family has the necessary herbs and oils needed for repellant."

Ansen looked over the reports from the Guard. "That is very good news, as is this. It says here that the carters have almost managed to make up the time and get back on schedule for getting people home. Plus, the Council managed to negotiate for the rest of that cured timber. It looks like there's enough to provide at least the minimum number of beams needed to get everyone a roof and uprights. Some might have sod walls this winter, but it looks like we won't have to worry about housing people under canvas."

Matching smiles met his. "I am beginning to think," Cellen spoke what they were all thinking, "that we're beginning to have things under control."

"Don't tempt the gods," Claudia said wryly.

Still, it was with cheerful hearts that the three tackled the many tasks still before them. Now that firm plans were in place for the evacuees' return, a mountain of logistical details remained. Much of it seemed to involve tracking down various shipments of mis-labeled, miscounted, or just plain _missing_ goods. The other challenge was tracking down missing _people._ Not so much stray children – there was a process in place for reuniting wandering little folk with their caregivers – but more on the nature of trying to find people who had moved in with family, or were on one list under one name and listed elsewhere by another. The name on the tax roll might read Bertrim Nillis, but perhaps his wife had given his name to the register as Barty Salimen, Barty tending to use his step-father's surname.

Little things like this, minor in small doses, nevertheless ate up a tremendous amount of time and it always seemed to end up on the Heralds' plates when no one could agree on what should be done.

"I'm starting to think that we're becoming the easy answer," Cellen growled as he stumped in after yet another long day of wrangling and problem solving. "A lot of this that's going on doesn't really need us. The Guard has the expertise and the three Houses have the authority. But it's easier for the Houses to point to us and say, 'It wasn't our fault, the Heralds decided'. They're so afraid of stirring up new conflict that they don't want to take _any_ responsibility right now." He flopped down and added sheepishly, "No offense, brother. I know what you had to deal with trying to get them to be reasonable and now I'm complaining about the effects."

A headshake. "Don't apologize. You're exactly right. A lot of these _are_ issues that should be managed by the various Houses and their stewards. They know what they have to do – now they just need to actually do it. We've all made this point in our various reports. Let's just hope someone is listening."

# # #

Selenay had, apparently, been listening for quite some time. Two days after Cellen's frustrated observation, orders arrived from their queen. Claudia and Cellen had five days to finalize and turn over any remaining tasks and then the two of them were to proceed north east, towards Freeland. Somewhere along that way they would find the Circuit Herald, who would by then have their next assignments.

"I'll miss you." Ansen stretched out beside her on their bed, one finger tracing her jaw.

"And I you." Warm hazel eyes met his.

"Any idea where you're going next?"

She shook her head. "Obviously, I'm hoping to get back to Haven and spend some time with Orren, but…"

"But who knows." He nodded and sighed. "Well, I've gotten word from both the Queen's Own _and_ the Chronicler that when I'm done here, they want me back in Haven to finish up the record of the tri-party agreement and all the messy details of the negotiations. _That_ at least will take me two or three months to finalize so I expect to have at least the fall with him." He smiled. "And hopefully you."

"Here's hoping!" Her kiss was warm and welcome, and a gentle touch, mind to mind, made her intentions clear. "My dear, this is the time we have. Let's not waste it wondering about tomorrow."

They both understood. That was enough.

# # #

 _::Ansen!::_ Kandrel's voice was sharp with worry, shattering Ansen's rest. Instantly awake, the Herald threw open his eyes. The night-candle marked several candlemarks yet till dawn.

 _::What is it?::_ Ansen reached out with his senses, hearing only the normal night sounds of the camp and Claudia's deep breathing beside him. Two precious nights remained until she left.

 _::_ _Ylandriel_ _fears for her Chosen. Something is very wrong.::_ Anxiety rolled off the Companion in waves. Outside, Ylandriel's alto squeal underscored Kandrel's words.

Ansen groped blindly in the dark, fumbling. Hot! Now, Ansen could feel the fever heat.

"Ask Lancri to wake Cellen. Tell him to get a Healer." Ansen flung the blankets aside, seeing Claudia's sweat soaked nightgown give the truth to her sickness.

It had never taken him so much concentration for him to light a lamp! He carefully peeled back an eyelid, dreading the yellow he saw there. His touch on her stomach was gentle, but it still reached through her fevered delirium and she cried out with pain.

 _"I'm awake, brother, we're away. Stay with her. Keep her here!"_

Keep her here? How was he to do that? Afraid to touch her, lest he cause her more pain, Ansen cradled one of her hands in his own, her calloused fingers delicate against his strong, broad palms. He reached _out_ with himself, almost recoiling when he touched the chaos of her fevered mind. _There!_ A glowing thread that he could follow, could find the _self_ that was Claudia. With mental hands, he grasped it and held firmly, sending his strength, his love along their link. He felt a familiar strength join his, the other half of him as Kandrel, as always, opened his heart to his Chosen.

Another strength, one which had become familiar and loved these past sennights, joined theirs. A fourth, male and less familiar, added himself to their link and it was with start that Ansen realized that brash strength must belong to Lancri.

This wasn't Healing. This was something different. This was love and strength, freely offered, freely given. Strength to sustain the _self_ that was Claudia, sustain her until her body could heal.

# # #

Time was an irrelevant blur.

He sat with her, never releasing his grip on that glowing golden thread. He sat, hunched and shaking while she cried out in pain, thrashing in her fever. Watched as the Healers poured their own strength into her body, fighting the infection that wanted to destroy her.

Always, Kandrel was with him. When one of them flagged, the other took up the task. Lancri and Cellen took their own turns, offering their strength to the pair.

Snippets of quiet conversations, voices laced with concern…

"…fever still too high…"

"…cold water bath?..."

"…no longer keeping down liquids…"

The thread seemed thinner now, and the sustaining stream he'd been sharing widened to a torrent.

"…liver failing…"

"…keep the toxins from building up…"

Thinner now.

"…fluid around the heart…"

A mere wisp in the darkness.

"Herald…" an unfamiliar voice, thick with exhaustion.

"Brother…" strong arms wrapping around him, holding him. Kandrel's beloved strength at his back.

Desperately, he grasped for the thread, threw the last of his strength after it.

A last, quiet flicker.

Gone.

A single bugle of anguish, then the aching void, the internal knell of the Death Bell.

He collapsed then against them, his heart brother and his blood brother. Companions do not weep, but their grief is that of oceans. Cellen wept, wept for both of them. Wept for all of them. Alone, and never alone, Ansen let his tears flow.

#####

"She would have liked it here." Ansen stared down at the circle of fresh dirt beneath the towering oak. One hand was twined in Kandrel's mane. "They both would have."

"I know." Cellen touched the whitewashed cairn that marked the pair's final resting place. Already it was draped with summer flowers, tributes from those who had come. "What will you do now?"

Ansen gave a half shrug. "What would you do?" He looked up to meet his brother's gaze.

Cellen nodded slowly. They would do what was asked of them.

Ansen sighed. "I'll finish up here and then go back to Haven. Talia says they want me at court this winter. It means I'll get to spend more time with Orren." His voice caught for a moment. "He won't remember her."

"No, he won't." Cellen agreed. "But he'll _know_ her. That I promise you. He'll know who his mother was and what she did. And not just the Herald-tales either. I'll help you make sure he knows who Claudia was. How she hated corn and was terribly ticklish on the soles of her feet. How she loved music and taught herself to play pipes."

Ansen's smile was lopsided. "I never knew you paid so much attention."

Cellen cocked his head. "I've a lot of faults, Ansen, but not paying attention to things I care about isn't one of them. She was important to you and that made her important to me. I loved her for that."

"I miss her." It was quiet.

"I know. You always will. But you're not alone."

Heart-brother in white with sapphire blue eyes.

Blood brother in white with unkempt curls and an unstinting heart.

Brothers mine. Never alone.


End file.
